


I Think I'd Miss You Even If We Had Never Met

by ifwallscouldspeak



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Female Friendship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Islamophobia, Wedding Guests AU, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 05:24:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11799324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifwallscouldspeak/pseuds/ifwallscouldspeak
Summary: "It’s just a plane ticket-”“Yeah, for a date. My date. To take to Noora and Eva’s wedding. In Oslo. And he’s never met my friends, and I only know him from years and years ago, and-” Sana can feel the anxiety crawling back up her throat again. “Oh, shit, why, why am I doing this-”Or, a "The Wedding Date" AU, where Sana is having a lot of complex emotions about heading back to Oslo, and she asks Yousef to be her pretend partner for the weekend. Written for SKAM Fic Week, Days 1/6/7 (accidental/fake dating, wedding guests au, fic based on a movie).





	I Think I'd Miss You Even If We Had Never Met

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Happy SKAM Fic Week!
> 
>  I wanted to do something fluffy but y'all know how much I love angst. So here's a bit of both! This is a "The Wedding Date" AU. It's very Yousana but also emphasizes Eva and Sana's friendship (my precious babies who are so similar ;_;) and deals with the anxiety and insecurity that can come with not feeling like you belong (anymore?). I also really disliked that Sara/Ingrid and the Pepsi Max girls were like, all forgiven and redeemed without actually doing anything at the end of S4, so be forewarned this piece isn't very kind to them...  
>    
> NOTE: I've never actually been to a Norwegian wedding, and so based all of the rituals/events off of the film. I'm sorry for leaving out any important traditions or things that are culturally significant!
> 
> As always, all grammar, spelling and syntax errors are my own. I do not own SKAM or The Wedding Date any of the canonical characters. NOTE: Some lines of dialogue are verbatim from the movie! And the title comes from the movie as well :)
> 
>  Thank you to @littlespooneven on Tumblr for organizing this!

Sana sits on her bed, a few tears rolling down her face.

She looks around her room helplessly. Everything is an absolute mess. Clothes, shoes, and medical textbooks are strewn everywhere in no particular order. Her bed is half made, a bunch of pillows thrown onto the floor. She hasn't had time to clean lately, so she's sure her air conditioner is spurting out more dust than cold air. The carpet is dingy, and she can’t remember the last time she actually vacuumed.

Maybe that’s what she should do, instead of sending this email -

Her phone dings in her hand. It’s Jamilla.

 

[ **Today** , 6:04]

_JUST SEND IT ALREADY! I BELIEVE IN YOU!_

Sana throws her phone, face down, onto one of her pillows. She looks around the room again, and her gaze catches on a pale gray dress and soft yellow scarf, hanging up on the back of her door. Her bridesmaid’s outfit.

She’s definitely not looking forward to this.

Her phone goes off, and it’s Jamilla’s ringtone. Sana groans, and reaches behind her for her phone. She wipes at her face with one hand, taking a steadying breath.

“Halla?”

“You still haven’t sent that email, have you?” Jamilla clucks with disapproval.

Sana squints. “Isn’t it about midnight there? Why are you still awake?”

“Don’t dodge my question,” Jamilla says. “Send the damn email.”

“I literally was just about to!”

“No, you weren’t, you were sitting on your couch feeling sorry for yourself.”

“It’s not my couch,” Sana mutters.

“Send it!”

“I can’t, okay?”

“You want me to log into your email and do it for you?”

“No!”

“Then put on your big girl hijab and do it girl. It’s just a plane ticket-”

“Yeah, for a date.” Sana pauses. “My date. To take to Noora and Eva’s wedding. In Oslo.”

“Sana-”

“And he’s never met my friends, and I only know him from years and years ago, and-” Sana can feel the anxiety crawling back up her throat again. “Oh, shit, why, why am I doing this-”

“Sana, just let go, okay? You got it. Just do it.”

Sana tries to breathe. “Yeah, okay.”

“Sana!”

“Okay, okay,” Sana mutters.

She pushes her phone away, putting Jamilla on speaker as she grabs her laptop close to her again. She takes a deep breath, looking down at email. It’s a confirmation message, a plane ticket. Roundtrip, non-stop, First Class, from JFK to Gardermoen. For one Yousef Acar.

“You can do it, just click the button,” Jamilla’s voice is soothing but laughing over the line.

Sana groans, and closes her eyes briefly. When she opens them again, the cursor is still hovering, the message waiting to be forwarded.

Sana clicks it, and lets out a screech.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jamilla asks.

Sana pulls a pillow over her face and screams.

“That’s my exit, I guess,” Jamilla laughs. “See ya in a couple of days, sis!”

Sana doesn’t say anything back, just hanging up the phone. She waits for her heart rate to slow down, and then determinedly gets up. She marches towards her bedroom closet. Everything inside of it is a mess; clothes are half falling off of their hangers, there are boxes of junk about to topple over on one another. She takes a deep breath and crouches down, reaching for a plastic bin near the back of the closet. Once her fingers graze it, she yanks it out. She braces herself, wary that something will fall on top of her. When nothing does, she sits cross-legged, and pulls the bin onto her lap.

There are a few old letters, pressed flowers, school exams, and holiday cards right on top. She smiles briefly but pushes them all aside as she reaches for a stack of photos in the bottom of the bin.

She’s not sure exactly why she’s doing this - it’s not like most of these photos aren’t on Facebook or Instagram, anyway - but they still make her smile. There’s something about holding these memories in her hand, tangible, flipping through the semi-faded photos with ink and fingerprint splotches on them.

They’re all of her favorite people - her best friends, her heart painfully reminds her - and she hasn’t seen them in years.

There’s one of Isak and Even, hugging and laughing and half falling over; Eva and Noora, holding hands and making kissy faces at the camera; Chris and Vilde, deep in conversation in a club bathroom; Jamilla, Elias, Omar, and her in front of her parent’s old place; and so many of all of the girls, of her squad, in front of their Russ bus, at an Eid party so long ago, at their graduation…

She sighs, and shoves all the photos back into the bin.

 

+++

 

Sana has just settled into her seat on the plane when her phone rings. She rolls her eyes when she sees who’s calling, and contemplates not answering for a moment. She’s on fucking vacation already, she already left instructions to all of the nurses and painstakingly passed off all of her surgeries and patients to other doctors who are more than capable -

She answers the phone.

“Yes, hi, this is Dr. Bakkoush,” she sighs.

An older white woman has just settled into the aisle across from Sana. She perks up with interest, clearly eavesdropping. Sana has to stop herself from rolling her eyes again.

“Dr. Bakkoush, it’s Jeremy,” the harried voice says over the phone.

“Yes, Jeremy, I know,” she says. “What do you want? I’m on a plane-”

“Well, you know your post-op, Mr. Santiago, the one you did an osteotomy on two days ago? Well, I know you already told me the proper dosage to give him, but I can’t remember right now, and I have to monitor his result in a few minutes-”

“Jeremy,” Sana says as patiently as she can. “I’m on vacation right now, got it? You do not need to be calling me. I do not need to be hearing your voice. Please go bother one of the other orthopedic surgeons-”

“But Dr. Bakkoush-”

“Nie, Jeremy!”

“Huh?”

Sana takes a calming breath; she tends to slip into Norwegian whenever one of her residents has managed to grind her nerves.

“‘But Dr. Bakkoush’ nothing, Jeremy. I left you and the rest of your group with Dr. Zhang, did I not? You’re in more than capable hands. She’s your teacher while I’m gone, got it?”

“I guess,” Jeremy sounds glum. “But you’re my favorite attending, Dr. Bakkoush.”

Any other time, the despondent tone in his voice would make her crack. Her residents always know exactly what to say to reveal her motherly instinct, which makes her crazy. She almost wants to laugh, remembering the time Noora had called her soft-heartedly. _Tell anyone and I’ll kill you_. If only her friends could see her now, bringing in muffins for the residents when they’ve had tough days, or helping them to study with her special flashcards -

“Sorry, Jeremy, but you’ll just have to survive without me,” Sana says now, sighing. “I’ll be back in a week, okay? Then you and everyone else can ask me all the questions you want.”

“Fine,” he says.

In the background, Sana can hear Maria and Alex’s voices.

Alex is asking, “Wait, is that Dr. Bakkoush? Can you tell her I said hi, and I as wondering-”

Maria is speaking over him. “No me first, ask her again when she’s coming back, I miss-”

“Bye, don’t call me again!” Sana almost yells into the phone, before hanging up the call.

The older woman next to her is starring in an obvious way. Sana represses the urge to fix her hijab, and instead places her phone on airplane mode.

“You moved all the way to another continent to become a doctor?” the old white woman asks Sana in Norwegian.

Sana really doesn’t want to talk. “Yes.”

“How interesting,” the woman says. “You know, my husband did the exact same thing forty years ago. We’re originally from Oslo, you know, and he wanted to just pack up and start his medical career in California. Now, I told him it would be much too hot, so we decided on New York, instead.”

“That’s nice,” Sana says.

“Where do you work, my dear?”

Sana sighs; she’s in the conversation now. “New York Presbyterian. I did my residency at Columbia-”

“Why, my husband did too! Though he wasn’t orthopedics, of course, he was in general surgery. What a small world, just a couple of Norwegians living it up in New York,” the woman smiles fondly.

Sana is starting to warm up to this woman. “Yes.”

“And where are you from originally?”

“Oslo.”

“No, I mean, originally,” the woman says, stressing the last word, still smiling.

The warm feeling drops; Sana grits her teeth. “Morocco.”

“Oh, how exotic,” the woman says. “Are you going on a connecting flight, then? Is that why you have to wear that- that thing on your head?”

Sana doesn’t know why she’s surprised. “No. I’m actually just going home to Oslo for a wedding.”

“Oh, that’s ni-”

“Yes, my lesbian best friends are getting married. And then I’m going to spend a few days with my family. It’s all going to be very fun. Very Muslim, and very gay.” Sana keeps a straight face throughout her speech, and then quirks her mouth up.

“I - oh,” the white woman blanches a bit, and then turns to look at her safety card.

Sana is wondering whether she should add anything else as she stares at the white woman. But then, a pair of fitted, black jeans blocks her view. She looks up, and almost chokes on her own spit. A beautiful, wide smile and intense dark eyes stare down at her. It’s - well, goddamn, she thinks - he’s so fucking cute, and when he cocks his head slightly, some of his dark hair falls into his eyes.

He looks just like he did in high school, only a thousand times cuter, older, more defined.

“Uhm, hi,” Sana says. “Hey. Uh. Yousef.”

“Sana,” Yousef says, still smiling.

He eases into the seat next to her, signaling to a flight attendant. Sana peeks at him through the corner of her eyes. He looks so comfortable, so at ease, as he stretches his legs out in front of him. They seem to go on forever, and his hands, damn, his fingers are so elegant. And don’t even get her started on his neck; she watches as he swallows, a flush coming up to her face.

This. This is not good.

“How are yo-” he starts to say.

“Fine,” Sana says quickly. “You?”

“I’m fine,” Yousef says. “Sorry we couldn’t leave earlier, so that you could have time to settle in before the party. I just had to wrap up a few loose ends.”

“That’s fine,” Sana says. “Work must be crazy at the moment.”

Yousef quirks his eyebrows at her, and Sana wants to slap herself.

“I mean, work for me has been crazy,” Sana says.

Before she can say anything else, a flight attendant appears. Sana says a quick prayer of thanks. She really needs to get herself together; she needs to find her calm. She’s not usually so flustered, but the entire weekend and this harebrained scheme is just making her feel off-center. She needs to just breathe through it, and remind herself that she loves her friends, she loves her family, she’s doing this for them -

“Water?” Yousef passes her a bottle smoothly.

“Huh?” Sana blinks up at him. “Oh. Uh, yes. Thank you.”

“Anything for you, girl,” Yousef answers in Norwegian.

Sana wonders how four little words, from someone she hasn’t seen since she was sixteen, could make her feel so comfortable already.

 

+++

 

Sana stares at Yousef’s long fingers as he reads, the way they grip the pages and turn each one gently. Although the book itself seems interesting - _For White Folks Who Teach in the Hood... and the Rest of Y'all Too_ \- it’s clear that he’s read it before; the spine is broken, there are paragraphs highlighted, and Sana can see tiny notes in the margins. His focus is so intense that it’s like he’s reading it for the first time.

Part of Sana doesn’t want to interrupt, because it’s so beautiful to watch. But another part wants to know more about him, more about what he does and his passions. She figures that would be important, if they’re really going to pull off this whole fake dating thing.

It’s definitely not because she wants to see him light up, wants to know that he feels the same burning happiness at his career that she does at her.

That’s. It’s definitely not because of that.

She clears her throat slightly, peeking up at him. “Elias told me you’re starting a new teaching position?”

Yousef turns to look down at her; without hesitation, he closes his book, keeping his finger in to mark his page.

“Yeah, at NYU Steinhardt's Early Childhood Education program,” he smiles. “I’ll be teaching undergrads how to teach kindergarteners.”

Sana raises her eyebrows, impressed. “Wow. Didn’t you work with kindergarteners when you were younger as well?”

He nods. “My aunt helped me get a job when I was in high school. I loved everything about it, and I learned so much. Kids that age are amazing. They’re so curious and soft and bright, and they need good teachers to help cultivate their curiosity. You know? Kids spend more hours, it feels like, in school than they do with their parents.”

“Do you miss teaching babies?”

He smiles. “Yes. But I realized that I could do so much more to help even more kids if I was teaching their teachers.”

“That’s amazing, Yousef,” Sana starts.

“Not as amazing as being a doctor-”

“Elias said you got your PhD,” she blushes. “So you’re a doctor, too.”

He shakes his head. “You know what I mean, Dr. Bakkoush.”

There’s something in the way he says it which is so much different than the way anyone else does. She has to tamp down a low burn of pleasure, and tries to purse her lips instead.

“I’m just saying, it’s nothing to look down on. No education is,” Sana says. “But especially not a doctorate in Education from U.C. Berkeley.”

He raises his eyebrows, eyes twinkling. “Did you ask Elias for my resume, or something?”

Sana glares, but there’s no heat behind it. “What? If you’re going to be my boyfriend, shouldn’t I know what you do? Why you do it?”

He inclines his head slightly. She gestures towards his book.

“Is that what you’re focusing on?” she asks. “Critical race studies?”

He says, “Broadly, yes. When I was in school, my program was centered on social identities in educational contexts,” Yousef says. “My thesis focused on the intersections of mental health, race and class, and how implicit bias and institutional discrimination negatively impact students, young children especially. I focused on institutional changes that could ensure that no child gets pushed out of school.”

Sana breathes, “Wow.”

Yousef smiles and ducks his head a little. “It’s not all that. Most of the fieldwork was cleaning peanut butter off of my data.”

“No, Yousef, that’s amazing!” Sana says. “And it makes me think a lot about my own experiences, like with racist teachers and guidance counselors who-”

She suddenly realizes what she’s saying, and her mind short circuits. She doesn’t know why she’s revealing all of this, here and to Yousef. But he’s looking at her seriously. Not like she’s a lab test but like he cares about her, like he wants her to keep talking. Just to share, in this space between them.

She clears her throat. “Things might have been different, if I had more support from school institutions. I wouldn’t have been so angry, maybe, so insecure, or wouldn’t have gotten bullied.”

“It’s hard for brown girls,” he says softly.

“Yeah. But luckily I had Jamilla in middle school,” Sana smiles. “And her and the girls in high school.”

“I’m glad you had them.” He looks at her for a moment.

She can almost hear his question: _if your friends were that great, what happened? Why do you need me to be your pretend boyfriend to go back to Oslo?_ But he doesn’t say anything, just looks at her. She doesn’t know if that’s a blessing or not.

“I’ll let you get back to your book, now,” Sana says, before pointedly turning her head to stare out the window.

 

+++

 

Sana falls asleep, even though she knows that’s gonna be hell for her jetlag. But somewhere over the Atlantic, the stress and exhaustion she’s been feeling ever since she got the wedding invitation has just collapsed.

She doesn’t wake up until she hears the announcement for landing.

She’s so groggy at first that she doesn’t even realize that Yousef is holding her hand. Blearily, she watches as his thumb strokes calming circles over her skin.

 

+++

 

Sana stares at Yousef’s tie with a frown on her face.

They’re standing at baggage claim. She’s already used the bathroom, freshened her makeup, and changed into the dress and hijab she’s wearing to the party. Yousef has also changed, into a sleek, dark blue suit. It looks incredibly good on him, and part of Sana thinks that’s just really fucking unfair.

But part of her is focused on his skinny tie, which is the exact same pale, satin pink color as the outfit she has on.

“Sana?” He asks distractedly, looking for his suitcase.

“You’re not wearing that tonight, are you?” she says.

He glances at her, brow furrowed. “What’s up?”

“It looks like someone cut a strip out of my hijab and then turned that into your tie,” she frowns.

Yousef smirks at her. “You think it’s too matchy-matchy?”

Sana says, “This screams that we’re trying too hard.”

“And you want us to fit, but not like we’re trying to hard to fit?”

“It’s a welcome party, not Russ season,” Sana says. “People don’t have to know that we’re rolling in together.”

He laughs, flashing a wide grin at her; her heart flutters without her permission.

He says, “In my experience, if you look people in the eye, no one ever notices what you have on.”

He bends his head down slightly, catching her eye. His gaze is so intense that Sana couldn’t look anywhere else if she tried. They stare at each other for more than a few heartbeats.

“What color are my shoes?” he asks quietly.

Sana can’t answer for a moment, and then rolls her eyes.

“Nice trick, but your shoes are black, your socks are dark blue, and your tie is still the exact same color as my hijab.”

Yousef rocks back on his heels and laughs again. Sana reminds herself not to get too attached to the sound. She staunchly turns her head back to the baggage carousel, scanning for her bag.

“Okay, okay,” he says. “I brought a number of ties, don’t worry. I’ll change as soon as we get into the cab.”

 

+++

 

The tie he changes into is a nice juniper green. For a moment, she misses the soft pink silk.

 

+++

 

Sana can’t stop fidgeting when they reach the hotel.

She tries to maintain her calm, but can barely focus. Yousef pays the bellhop, who takes their bags, and says something that makes the younger man laugh. Sana checks her phone; there’s a slew of unread messages, mostly from the groupchat. It’s almost time for maghrib; she wonders if she can sneak away earlier and come back later, if anyone would even notice.

Yousef’s voice is soft, right by her ear. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” she asks, blinking up at him.

Yousef gently takes her hand, squeezing slightly. Sana’s breath hitches.

“I can’t do this,” she says, quietly.

She wonders where that comes from. Yousef stares at her for a moment, and then leans forward. For a brief moment, Sana thinks she should pull away; he’s coming way too close, like he’s about to kiss her.

But then he just whispers close to her ear, “You can do anything, girl. It’s just a few steps into the ballroom.”

Sana turns her head, meeting his eyes.

“Sana Bakkoush!” a high, clear voice yells across the room.

Sana turns, eyebrows furrowed; but then, a smile spreads across her face quickly. She snatches her hand out of Yousef’s, and walks across the hotel lobby.

“Vilde!” she says.

Her blonde friend practically flings herself into Sana’s open arms, squeezing just a tad bit too tightly.

“Sana, I can’t believe you’re actually here,” Vilde says.

They pull away from one another, and Sana can’t help the smile that plays on her face. Vilde looks so light, so happy; she’s practically glowing, and she has a flower crown in her hair. Sana notices as soon as Vilde’s eyes catch on Yousef. Her blue eyes widen for a moment, and her mouth opens softly.

“I know I’m gay,” she whispers. “But even I’m impressed, Sana.”

Sana closes her eyes briefly, a pang of guilt flooding her system. Yousef comes up behind Sana, stepping forward to give Vilde a quick hug. She squeaks slightly, raising her eyebrows at Sana over his shoulder.

“I’m Sana’s partner, Yousef,” Yousef says after the pull away.

“Great to meet you,” Vilde says. She does a weird little curtsy. “Vilde.”

Sana gives them both a small smile.

“Though I have to say, we were all surprised that Sana was bringing-”

“Vilde!” the smile drops off of Sana’s face.

Vilde presses her lips together. “I’m just saying-”

“The party's this way, hmm, the receptionist said?” Sana says, speaking over Vilde.

She doesn’t bother to look back at Vilde or Yousef as she quickly steps towards the ballroom. Vilde takes it in stride, quickly catching up to Sana.

“You sure you okay to do this?” she asks. “Because it’s going to be a lot. You left no time for jet lag-”

“Nie, Vilde,” Sana says, “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, Sana,” Vilde frowns slightly. “Because it’s cocktails now - well, not for you of course - then the bachelorette party, and tomorrow, there’s the picnic and then the rehearsal dinner and finally the wedd-”

“I can handle it,” Sana lies smoothly. "I've had to stay awake for 40 hours in surgery, I think I'll be fine for a wedding."

They enter the ballroom, and Sana’s breath stops for a moment. She can’t do this, she can’t step inside and face all of these people, not after these years.

She feels a hand at her lower back. Yousef is standing next to her, smiling slightly and look down at her. She wants to say something, anything, to thank him for his calm presence, his corny sayings, something -

“Sana!”

Sana’s face breaks into a grin. “Chris!”

“Hello, sexy,” Chris says, grinning and enveloping Sana into a hug.

Before Sana can introduce Yousef, Eva is running up to them, a little unsteadily on her heels. She has a whole bottle of champagne in her arms.

“Sana!” Eva cries. “I’m getting married, Sana!”

Noora is only a few feet behind her fiancée, happiness shining across her face.

“Sana!”

Sana is enveloped by too many arms, and for a moment, it’s nice instead of overwhelming. She feels like she’s a teen again, laughing and dancing in Noora’s apartment, Britney Spears playing in the background.

“And you must be Yousef,” Eva says, pulling away from the hug. “Can I get you a drink? Beer? Whiskey? Champagne?”

“Nice to meet you,” Yousef says. “I actually don’t drink.”

“Oh, so you’re Muslim too,” Chris says, nodding slowly.

“God, you’re cute!” Eva says.

“Sweetheart,” Noora says endearingly.

“What?” Eva leans over and gives her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “I’m just saying, Sana, where did you find this guy-”

“Craigslist,” Sana says dryly.

The girls all laugh. Chris looks like she’s about to open her mouth again, but then the sound of silverware hitting the side of a glass catches everyone’s attention. Sana glances in the direction of the noise, and immediately feels her face blanche. Her body stiffens. Beside her, she can feel Yousef’s concerned gaze on her face.

“Welcome, everyone!” Ingrid’s voice resonates through the room.

Sana stares at her. She looks as beautiful as she remembers her being. Tall, thin, and white.

Beside her, Vilde stiffens. “What the fuck is she doing?”

“Making a speech,” Chris sounds bewildered. “Who gave that bitch an amp?”

“Hello everyone! As some of you may know, I’m Ingrid, one of the bridesmaids,” Ingrid smiles. “Eva’s side, of course.”

Eva makes a loud ‘whoo’ sound. Sana tries and fails not to roll her eyes.

“On behalf of all of the bridal party, I would just like to thank everyone for being here today, so many beautiful friends and family members - hi, Anne Marit!”

Sana watches as Eva’s mom waves half-heartedly, looking a bit confused.

“It’s so nice, being surrounded by so many people who are all here for the same reason, to celebrate the beautiful union between Eva and Noora,” Ingrid smiles. “And we’re all so happy to be here, to celebrate them. It’s especially poignant for me and others who have known the two of them since high school. All those ups and downs, Russ drama and the like -”

Around her, people laugh awkwardly. Sana can barely breathe.

“And who knew that they would be the first of us to get married?” Ingrid giggles. “We all thought that would be Sana, of course. You know, for obvious reasons, I always thought it would be an arranged thing-”

Sana can barely hear the rest of the speech. She can feel her face sliding into a stone mask and she glares up at Ingrid. Vilde is shooting her a half horrified, half concerned look. But Sana can’t find it in her to shoot her a reassuring glance.

“Fucking hell,” Chris mutters.

“But, here we are, more than a decade later, and these two love birds are still infatuated with each other. Who knew, the cool new girl and the girl next door?” Ingrid laughs. “Lucky for us, to be able to experience it all. A toast to the two beautiful brides to be. Congratulations, babies!”

Everyone begins clapping, and it shakes Sana out of her reverie.

Noora is frowning. “Sana-”

“Excuse me,” Sana says curtly. “Bathroom.”

She stalks away to the restroom, practically seething with rage. She contemplates calling Jamilla, asking her sister-in-law to just come pick her up, and ditching all the wedding activities until the actual wedding. She’s almost to the door when she hears a masculine voice call her name. She doesn’t even bother to turn around, she just mutters out that she has to pee and escapes into the bathroom.

She doesn’t know how long she stays in the restroom, staring at her reflection and absent-mindedly washing her hands. But she watches herself as she does it, trying to keep all of the rage and sadness from her youth from creeping into her mind. She’s a fucking surgeon in New York City, she’s a grown woman with a beautiful apartment and killer wardrobe, she’s actually happy in her life, there are people who respect her, she has friends and coworkers that she gets dinner with, her date is sweet and cute, even if she had to practically beg him to be here -

She pauses in washing her hands and takes a deep breath. She dries her hand and then applies a new coat of lipstick, before stomping back out of the restroom.

“I was about to come in after you,” a voice says to her right.

Sana spins on her heel, and then begins to grin. “Isak!”

“Sanasol,” her old friend says, leaning in to give her a hug.

“You look good,” Sana says, looking at him critically when they pull back. “Taller, somehow.”

He laughs. “And you look gorgeous, as usual.”

Sana smiles. “How’s Even?”

“He’s good,” Isak’s grin is joyous. “He couldn’t make it today, but I hear there’s a picnic tomorrow?”

“So I’ve heard,” Sana says. “Vilde just gave me the rundown. You know, I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s a party planner, but it fits her really well.”

“Yeah, it makes a lot of sense,” Isak says. “So. Sanasol.”

“So. Isabel.”

“You doing okay?” he asks. “I know it can’t be easy, hearing all that bullshit-”

“It’s fine,” Sana says.

“Is it?”

Sana turns her face slightly. Her eye catches on Yousef, who is still standing with Noora and Chris, talking and smiling. Chris is waving her arms around wildly, and Yousef is nodding along, head inclined like she’s sharing the most interesting story in the world.

“It is,” she says.

Isak nods towards the group. “So. That’s the new boyfriend?”

He sounds slightly suspicious; Sana pretends she doesn’t hear it.

“Yes.”

“He’s cute,” Isak says. “Nice?”

“Yes.”

“And where did you meet again?” he says casually. “I can’t remember. Actually, besides that one text where I asked if I should bring a coworker for you, and you said no, you were bringing your new boyfriend - what was it? ‘Very recent but I’m serious about him’ - you haven’t told me anything about him at all.”

Sana smiles coyly, and steps away from him. Her girls are one thing; they’ve always taken a lot of what she said and did at face value, no questions asked. Sana has never known if it was because they all kept their own secrets and respected her, or if she was just that good. But Isak is a different story. Ever since they were young, he has always stepped up to her bullshit.

“We have all weekend to gossip, Isak,” Sana says.

 

+++

 

Much later, Sana is wishing she had called Jamilla to pick her up hours ago.

She’s standing next to Yousef, close by the bar. The bartender has just passed Yousef a water with lemon in it. He takes a slow sip; she tries not to stare.

“Lemme get some,” Eva says, appearing out of nowhere.

“It’s water,” Yousef warns, passing over his drink.

Eva furrows her brow for a moment, and then shrugs. She takes a long drink. Yousef signals for another one, passing that over to Eva as well.

“You know what’s great about all of this?” Eva sighs.

“Open bar?” Sana laughs.

Eva grins back. “Nei, Sana. That you’re here, for my wedding. It’s been too long. I’ve - we’ve - missed you, so much.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Sana says.

Eva turns to Yousef. “Is it because of you that she hasn’t visited in - in - shit, since my birthday?” 

Yousef glances at Sana, but doesn’t answer.

“Was it something we did, Sana?” Eva’s eyes are wide, and she’s clutching her water to her chest. “Sana-”

Sana’s throat begins to close up, and she can barely look at her friend. She doesn’t know what to say, so she glances away. She notices Noora dancing over to them, doing the same awkward shoulder shimmy that she always did back at Nissen parties.

“How’s the future Mrs.?” Noora asks.

“Perfect, now that you’re here,” Eva says, suddenly turning towards her fiancée.

“My love,” Noora smiles.

“Though have we figured out that last name thing?” Eva asks, concerned. “We’re both feminists, does that mean one of us can’t take the other’s name?”

Noora shrugs cutely. “Hyphenation?”

Eva shoves her glass at Yousef, who gently takes it from her hand. Eva then grabs Noora by the waist and spins her around. Noora blushes and takes a step, stepping on Eva’s toes.

“Ouch, babe,” Eva groans. “You know, this is what happens when you put off dance lessons til right before the wedding-”

“Oh, come on,” Noora says, swinging her head back. “Who even takes dance lessons before a wedding?”

Sana smiles. “Pretty much everyone.”

Noora throws her hands up, like she expected Sana to take her side.

“First Vilde sets up the damn thing, now you’re co-signing it,” Noora scowls. “Where’s the loyalty? Eh?”

“Why don’t we go with you tomorrow?” Yousef smiles gently. “It’ll be fun.”

Eva leans over and presses a sloppy kiss to Yousef’s cheek. Sana turns her head to give Yousef a dark glare.

“I love you already,” Eva says.

Noora sighs and looks upwards. “Fucking dance lessons.”

 

+++

 

Sana has lost track of Yousef, but she’s not too worried. He’s been everything that she remembered: charming, smart, earnest and a little bit dorky. She briefly wonders how much of this is his own personality and how much of it is just a show, a way to make Sana seem like she really does have an amazing partner.

While Eva and Noora speak with Linn and Eskild, Vilde runs around making sure everything’s running smoothly, and Chris and Isak chat by the bar, Sana takes a moment to escape to the balcony.

She just about reaches the door when she sees two figures, speaking candidly. She pauses, peeking through the curtains, not wanting to interrupt whomever it is. When she sees the figures more clearly, she almost groan. Of fucking course, it would be Sara. With Yousef.

Their backs are to the balcony doors.

“Well damn, if that isn’t impressive, a doctorate and everything,” Sara is saying, leaning in slightly to Yousef. “I bet you don’t even need a pick-up line, you just tell girls you’re a professor and they just fall all over you.”

“Not quite.“ Yousef shifts away. “Especially with Sana, because she’s an actual doctor. An orthopedic surgeon.”

“Oh really?” Sara tilts her head up, tosses her hair back. “And how did you two meet?”

Yousef says smoothly, “at a Ramadan meeting at the mosque.”

Sana almost chokes trying not to laugh as she watches Sara’s body stiffen.

“Oh,” Sara says delicately.

Sana emerges from behind the door, stepping out onto the balcony. Yousef half turns towards her, a smile lighting up his face. He leans close to her, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek; Sana’s entire body burns.

“Sana,” Sara says stiffly. “How nice to see you again. I was just introducing myself to your… boyfriend.”

“I was just telling Sabrina how we first met,” Yousef says.

“Sara,” Sara corrects him.

“Ah yes, at the mosque,” Sana says with a straight face.

“Right, well, I’d better just -” Sara makes an aborted motion towards the ballroom, then quickly makes her exit.

“Well, she looked absolutely miserable.” Sana smirks at Yousef. “Nice touch, pretending not to know her name.”

“Pretending?” Yousef has an affronted look on his face, but his eyes are twinkling. “Wow, we’ve just reconnected, and you already think I’m so devious?”

Sana nods her head, a grin playing on her face. “Ah. My fault, sorry.”

He inclines his head, tone serious for a moment. “Though, Sana. I have to tell you… you have so much going for you now. You really don’t need to be worrying about what everyone else is thinking.”

Sana feels the smile fall off of her face.

 

+++

 

Sana and Jamilla stand in the living room of Jamilla’s home, watching through the window as Yousef and Omar lug their bags out of the car.

“His Facebook photos definitely didn’t do him justice,” Jamilla smiles.

Sana rolls her eyes. “Jamilla.”

“What? He’s cute, is all I’m saying,” Jamilla says. “He’s aged like fine wine.”

“You don’t drink, so how would you know?” Sana grins.

Yousef and Omar come into the house, arms full of luggage.

“Thank you again for having me,” Yousef says.

“Of course,” Jamilla says. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

“Though I had no idea Sana was dating anyone at all,” Omar says, side-eying Yousef. “So I guess it’s nice to discover that you exist and to meet you all at once. Just nice.”

Jamilla and Sana roll their eyes at the same time.

“Don’t be petty, honey,” Jamilla says.

Sana gestures towards the bags. “Where are we sleeping?”

“Since the kids are with my parents in Mogadishu, I thought Yousef could stay in Abdul’s room, and you could be put in Iman’s room.”

Sana smiles slightly. “Does my niece still have good taste in music?”

Omar grunts, pulling Sana’s bags towards the stairs. “If you’re asking if the walls are still covered in posters of Tupac, then yes.”

“They’re also covered in print-outs of the x-rays you send,” Jamilla says. “She practically worships you.”

Sana pretends not to notice the soft smile that graces Yousef’s face. And she definitely pretends not to notice her heartbeat quickening.

 

+++

 

Sana almost dies of happiness when she bites into Omar’s chicken tagine. It’s exactly like their mother makes it, just this side of too spicy. She’s found a number of great Moroccan restaurants in New York, but none of them ever feel like they compare to the old family recipe.

She’s not ashamed to say a moan almost comes out of her mouth.

“This is amazing, Omar,” Yousef says, scooping more couscous into his bowl.

Omar still has a suspicious glare on his face. “Did you think it wouldn’t be?”

Yousef smiles easily. “Sana told me you were a chef, so it makes sense.”

Jamilla leans forward, resting an elbow next to her water. “You know, when we were younger, Mama Bakkoush would always tease Sana about not knowing how to cook, because Omar and Elias are so good at it.”

Sana groans.

“And Sana would always say that she didn’t need to learn how to cook, because her husband would do all the cooking,” Jamilla says, grinning brightly and menacingly.

“I know,” Yousef says smoothly. “Can you believe this one, she laid it all out for me on our first date. Our first date! She told me she was coming over to my apartment, that I had to cook for her. She actually said to me, I swear, ‘I’m not wasting my time on someone who can’t even boil water.’ Amazing.”

The lie sounds so convincing that Sana can actually imagine those words coming out of her mouth.

Jamilla says, “That’s our Sana.”

Omar is still glaring. “Jamilla tells me you’re good friends with Elias.”

“We’ve known each other since Bakka,” Yousef says.

“Yes, I’ve seen the throwbacks on Facebook,” Omar squints. “How come we’ve never met before this?”

Sana rolls her eyes. “You were already in university by then, Omar. You’ve never met any of Elias’s, or my, friends.”

“Besides me, of course,” Jamilla flutters her eyelashes.

Sana has to cough to hide her laugh at the goofy, soft look Omar shoots Jamilla.

“I respect you, Omar,” Yousef says. “So there’s something I have to confess to you.”

Sana’s blood runs cold for a minute, and she tries to catch Yousef’s eyes over the table. He steadfastly refuses to look at her. She kicks her foot out, but manages to slam it against the table leg instead. Her eyes water, so she quickly takes another bite, pretending it’s from the hotness of the food.

What is Yousef doing?

Omar looks satisfied, like he’s gearing for fight. “Oh?”

“I really just, I don’t understand how such a wonderful chef could be related to Sana and not have passed down any skills,” Yousef says, disapprovingly.

That is not what Sana was expecting.

Omar frowns. “Excuse me?”

Yousef picks a carrot out of his dish. “Well, I mean, look at this.”

“It’s a carrot.”

“Right, a superbly chopped, and probably wonderfully peeled carrot,” Yousef nods seriously.

Sana says. “Eh?”

“Your dear sister is a menace in the kitchen, especially around carrots,” Yousef says gravely. “She doesn’t even know how to peel them correctly. Last time I left her alone with the task, she became a butcher.”

Sana can’t help but laugh. “Yousef!”

“No, Sana, don’t be ashamed, this is really Omar’s fault,” Yousef says. “He’s neglected his brotherly duties.”

Jamilla howls with laughter as Omar’s face drops into a look of indignation.

“It’s true, dear, I’ve seen Sana in the kitchen,” Jamilla is choking back tears. “How she can be a surgeon with the way she handles a knife...”

Omar begins sputtering.

Something warm and light fills Sana’s entire body, even though she’s a bit affronted at the teasing. Yousef catches her eye, this time, and he shoots her a wink. She grins back at him, shaking her head slightly. She mouths that she’s going to get him back for this. Jamilla is still cracking up, and Omar is steadfastly trying to defend himself.

“I look forward to it,” she sees Yousef mouth at her.

 

+++

 

Sana feels calmer, after having alone time in her niece’s room. She was already feeling relaxed after dinner. Now that she’s had time to pray, time to breathe, and time to remind herself that the week is going to be fine. She’s going to make it through this wedding, navigating around the sly comments and pretending to her friends like she’s okay.

She quietly sneaks down the hall towards Abdul’s room, and gently knocks on the door. She hears Yousef’s muffled voice, telling her to come in. As she enters the room, she gets an eyeful of a beautiful, toned back. In half a second, she stares at the swath of brown, muscles flexing, before a black t-shirt drops over it. She can barely remember what she was going to say, and simply blinks up at Yousef as he turns around, a goofy smile on his face.

“Halla,” he says.

“Uhm, hi,” Sana says.

She shakes herself slightly and enters the room, closing the door gently behind her. Abdul’s room is exactly as she remembers it. The walls are painted dark blue and there are replicas of famous paintings all over the room. Everything is well-worn and cozy. It reminds her a little of Elias’s room, when they were growing up.

She moves to sit at the desk chair, watching as Yousef begins to unpack his suitcase. She notices a tuxedo hanging up in the closet and knows it doesn’t belong to her nephew.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Sana says. “I know this whole day - it’s been a whirlwind, to say the least. You were great at dinner, by the way.”

“Thanks,” he smiles before his eyes grow serious. “Though I should be asking you that. If you're okay.”

Sana shrugs. “It is what it is.”

“Sana,” he says gently.

“I mean, I have to be here, you know,” she smiles. “You just answered a desperate cry for help.”

“I didn’t think it was desperate,” he says after a beat. “I thought it was sweet.“

Sana shakes her head. “Nie. Desperate.”

 

_Sana had Jamilla on speakerphone, trying terribly hard not to cry. She had her laptop open and an unanswered text messages from Noora on her phone._

[ **Today** 8:08]

_Hey love! Just double-checking, you’re not bringing anyone to the wedding, right? We’re doing placements now, but just let us know whenever you know!_

[ **Today** 8:10]

_Oh, idk if I told you, but Eva asked Sara and Ingrid to be in the bridal party as well. I have no idea why, but their friendship has really grown the past few years. I guess forgive and forget all that petty high school drama._

[ **Today** 8:11]

_So that makes Sara, Ingrid, Isak and Chris standing for Eva, and you, Linn, Eskild and Vilde standing for me. Don’t tell my fiance (or Chris!), but I think our side is much cooler, no? ;)_

_“Who the fuck cares about those bitches?” Jamilla said. “You’re a badass surgeon living in New York. Those milktoast girls have been here, doing what? Still dragging people they went to high school with and making people feel small-”_

_“It’s not them, it’s me,” Sana said in a small voice. “Why do I still let them affect me this way?”_

_“It’s not you, Sana.”_

_“Yes it is. Why can’t I believe that I’m enough? Why do I have to care so much about Ingrid and Sara, instead of being happy that my best friends are getting married?”_

_“Sana, not to drag up the past, but remember last time you came home, and all those bitches did was say racist shit and then-”_

_“I know, Jamilla,” Sana snapped._

_“Okay, okay,” Jamilla said softly. “I’m just saying, it’s not on you. It’s them for being horrible twats. I don’t know how Eva can be friends with them, she’s such a genuine soul-”_

_"What am I gonna do?” Sana cut her off. “I hate - I hate that I feel like I need to have a date there with me, to make it seem like I’m like - I don’t know, like I have everything, and can brag about it, you know?”_

_It’s not like she hadn’t gone on dates. She had been casually seen a few people since she left Oslo. But she wasn’t especially serious about any of them. And usually, that didn’t bother her. She could stand the subtle remarks from her parents, kindly but just eagerly, for her to have a husband and kids. But now, thinking about going back home, having to face those horrible women who bullied her when she was young. Well, did it make her incredibly shallow that she wished she did have a partner of some kind, just to show him or her off?_

_“Well - well who says you can’t have a date?” Jamilla asked. “Some tall, dark, gorgeous person to make everyone swoon and help keep you grounded while the wonderbread twins stay being terrible?”_

_“Eh?”_

_“It’s the twenty-first century! The wedding is months away,” Jamilla said. “You have time to find a date!”_

_“How, Jamilla?” Sana asked. “What, I’m going to put up something on Craigslist? ‘Wanted: A hot Norwegian-speaker to pretend to be my partner so I can make girls from high school jealous’?”_

_“Not quite like that,” Jamilla said. “Look, don’t worry. Let Mama Jamilla take care of it.”_

_Sana groaned. “I hate you.”_

“Do you always do that?” Yousef asks.

“What?”

He smiles. “Be contradictory, just cause you can.”

“No!” she says, then chuckles a bit. “Maybe. Yes.”

He nods slowly, the smile still on his face.

“So what...” she pauses, wondering if she should ask him.

But he seems to read her mind anyway.

“What made me agree to be your fake boyfriend for the weekend?”

She nods. “Have you ever done anything like this before?”

“Nie,” he says. “At least, not a wedding.”

She furrows her brow. “Eh?”

He nods. “I did a funeral with Mikael once.”

Sana stares at him for a moment. “A funeral?” 

“He didn’t want all his aunts trying to set him up with some nice boy from back home,” Yousef says.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously,” he smiles. “It was a lot of fun.”

“I’ll bet,” Sana says.

“I did it because Mikael is a friend,” a sly look passes across his face. “But this, I’m doing because I wanted an adventure with a beautiful doctor.”

She doesn’t let herself be swayed. “Hah!”

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“Nie,” she says.

He pauses, looking at her carefully. “Why not?”

“Well...” Sana doesn’t answer for a moment. “I just, you know. You don’t have to sugar coat it. You can say that you’re just doing it because of Elias.”

Yousef rubs his head for a moment. “Huh?”

“It’s fine, you know, if you only contacted me out of pity, you know,” Sana says, trying to find her old darkness from creeping in. “For your old friend’s pathetic little sister.”

The smile falls off of Yousef’s face. “No, that’s not it at all.”

Sana wants to go back to her niece’s room to hide. “It’s okay, if that was it. It’s fine.”

It’s not fine, but -

 

_“Elias? I’m working, making it quick,” Sana said into her cell phone._

_She mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ at Maria, who was holding it up to her ear. It was just that Sana had her arms full with patient charts, and she was running from one side of the hospital to the next. Maria just smiled cutely, shrugging._

_“Wow, is that the way to greet your favorite brother?”_

_“Omar is my favorite brother,” Sana said bluntly._

_“Harsh.”_

_“Elias!”_

_“Okay, okay, calm down,” Elias laughed. “I just wanted to tell you, your little date conundrum is fixed.”_

_Sana almost tripped over her feet. “What - what date conundrum?”_

_“Jamilla told me all about your issue, with those Nissen bitches being part of the bridal party,” Elias said._

_Sana wanted to melt into the floor; she was grateful that Maria didn’t speak Norwegian, or else she was sure all of her cred as the badass, cool ortho surgeon would have flown right out of the window._

_“Fuck-”_

_“Don’t be embarrassed, Sana, we all been there,” Elias said. “Well, I haven’t, you know, cause everyone loves me-”_

_“Elias!”_

_“Okay, okay,” he laughed. “But seriously, I’m gonna hook you up with a fake boyfriend.”_

_Sana was suspicious. “How? You don’t know anyone in New York-”_

_“As a matter of fact,” Elias sounded so smug over the phone, Sana wanted to punch him. “Remember my old friend, Yousef?”_

_“Yousef Acar?”_

_Sana felt her face heat up, and pretended not to notice Maria looking at her in interest._

_Of course she remembered Yousef Acar. She had had a crush on him all through middle school and most of high school. When he left Oslo after he graduated, she had been crushed. He was always so sweet and cute and goofy; he never treated her like she wasn’t worth his time. She was pretty sure he had done a teaching fellowship in Turkey for a few years, and had heard that he moved out to California for graduate school after that, but -_

_“Yeah, yeah, Yousef. He’s moving to New York this summer, to work at some fancy private university,” Elias said. “I think he said he’s getting there like a week before the wedding. It’s perfect.”_

_“Perfect?” Sana felt dazed._

_“Yeah, you can both fly out here and he can be your wedding date, and then go back to New York, easy as pie,” Elias said._

_“What the fuck!”_

_“Yeah, I know!” Elias said. “This is actually perfect, right?”_

_“Elias! No!”_

_He huffed. “Well, it’s too late, cause I already asked him and he agreed. Jamila thinks it’s a great idea too. So, expect a call from him soon.”_

_“Elias Bakkoush!”_

_“This is a gift!” Elias said, laughing. “Accept that goodness is happening to you, right now! Inshallah!”_

_“I’m going to kill yo-”_

_“Love you, bye,” Elias cackled._

Yousef walks up to her, a serious look on his face. He catches her gaze, looking at her intently. Sana is startled for a moment, unsure of what to say. Her breath becomes shallow, and she stares up at him.

“You looking into my eyes?” he asks, softly.

She nods, eyes wide.

“Okay, good. And you listening to me carefully?”

“Yeah,” she whispers.

“I didn’t do this out of pity, and I don’t think your pathetic,” he says, eyes intense. “I did it because you’re funny and kind and I knew I’d have a great weekend with you. And I think you’re nervous and scared, and if there’s anything I can do to help out, I’m more than willing. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sana says breathlessly.

He nods his head at her, smiling now. “Good.”

“I’m just saying, it’s not everyday people are willing to be my pretend partner,” Sana says.

Yousef’s grin is crooked. “And I’ll be the best fake partner you’ve ever had. You deserve it.”

“Thank you, really,” Sana says.

“Anything for you girl,” he says.

And there it is, again. Sana doesn’t know why that makes her blush so hard. 

 

+++

 

Sana clutches her tonic water to her tightly, standing next to Chris and staring at Vilde with an impressed but frightened gaze. They’re at Noora’s favorite restaurant, about to start a bar hop for the bachelorette party. The group consists of the entire bridal party, Noora and Eva; Sana wonders if this can really count as a bachelorette party, when both of the future brides are present and ready to get trashed.

“Okay, bridal party!” Vilde practically shouts over the hustle of the bar. “Listen up!”

“When did she get so fucking scary,” Chris mutters.

Sana doesn’t respond.

“You’re right, probably when she realized she was a lesbian,” Chris nods her head, sneaking a sip of her gin and tonic.

“I saw that!” Vilde turns her head towards the pair, snapping at Chris.

Chris spits her drink back into her glass; Sana makes a face and notices Noora laughing, hiding half of her face in Eva’s hair.

“We’ve got seven bars and seven more drinks to go, so in the name of women loving women, you all better pace yourself!” Vilde says sternly.

She raises her own gin and tonic up high, almost spilling a bit on her hair. Before she can say anything more, Eskild beats her to the punch.

“To Nooreva, our favorite lesbians around!” he cries, clinking his glass against Linn’s.

Eva raises her glass up high as well. “To me! To us!”

Sana lifts her glass, wondering if Eva and Vilde had pregamed before this first bar.

 

+++

 

The second bar is margaritas; Sana laughs with Isak and Eskild, slowly sipping on a frozen lemonade. The iciness of it gives her brain freeze, enough that she barely notices the dirty looks Sara and Ingrid have been throwing at her.

Sana wants to be petty and glare back at them. But she focuses her attention on Noora and Eva instead, laughing and drinking in the center of their friends.

This is what she’s here for, she tries to remind herself. And she’s going to get through this night and the rest of the weekend just fine.

 

+++

 

The group has appletinis at the third bar, and Sana just sticks with a glass of non-alcoholic apple cider. She watches, amused, as Vilde sidles up to the cute bartender with the slick ponytail.

“Dirty martini, stirred with an olive,” Vilde says, tossing her hair back like a professional.

Sana shoots her an impressed look. Vilde winks, and then takes a big gulp of her drink, which the bartender says is on the house.

The moment the liquor hits her tongue though, her face pinches, and she spits it all out on the bar.

“That fucking tastes like dirty gym socks!” Vilde sputters.

Sana laughs and takes boomerangs of the entire bridal party trying the drink, none of them able to withstand the taste. She uploads them all to her Instagram story, grateful as ever with her glass of cider. She’s already in a good mood. It lifts even higher when she sees, a few moments later, that Yousef has sent her a private response -

 

_Glad everyone’s having fun, hope you are too. I miss you, and see you at home later <3 _

 

+++

 

Bar four is all about mojitos; Sana acts like her glass of water is fancy with its sprig of mint in it. Linn asks her if she thinks it’s late enough to beg off, and go back to her apartment to watch television without Noora being upset.

Sana watches Noora and Eva make out against the pool table, as if they just started dating instead of being days away from marriage, and lets Linn know she’s sure it’s gonna be fine.

Before they head to the next bar, Sana tells a slightly upset but mostly tipsy Eskild that yup, Linn had thrown up in the bathroom and gone home because she wasn’t feeling all too well.

 

+++

 

Everyone cheers with a manhattan in hand at the fifth bar. Sana drinks a Shirley Temple and wonders if it would be weird to order a plate of mozzarella sticks.

“I feel so Sex and the City,” Chris says. “But yeah, order them sticks, baby.”

“I’d definitely eat some,” Isak pipes in, leaning his head heavily on Sana’s shoulder.

In front of them, Ingrid is talking about how all of these drinks are so heavy in sugar, and she’s going to have to wake up extra early to hit the gym in the morning. Noora turns away from her with an unimpressed look. Eva asks why she even bothers going to the gym; Eskild asks if this is her way of fishing for compliments.

After she gorges herself on mozzarella sticks, Sana thinks if she shouldn’t have taken up Linn’s offer and gotten in that Uber with her, sleeping off the night on her couch. She’s exhausted and jet lagged, and she hasn’t even been drinking alcohol.

 

+++

 

The bartender flirts with Sana at bar number five, serving everyone else cosmopolitans with a flourish.

“I’ve never been with a Muslim girl before,” he says, blue eyes sparkling in the low light of the bar. “What time do you think this’ll be done? I get off of work at four.”

Sana sighs in response, annoyed, as Eskild shouts, “No, fuck, Chris, now you should feel like you’re in Sex and the City!”

Noora grips Sana’s arm tightly and drags her away from the bar and into the cooler, Oslo air. Sana leans against the glass window, happy to be away from the sticky bar top and fetishizing bartender. Noora closes her eyes briefly and turns her face towards the moon. Sana knows she hasn’t been drinking tonight either, and it’s a small comfort. Something that reminds her of when they were younger, and it often just felt like the two of them, watching out for their friends and making disgruntled eye contact from across the room.

“I love Eskild and Isak, but I wish it was just us, the squad, tonight, you know?” Noora says.

Sana doesn’t respond; the unspoken, _why are Ingrid and Sara even here?_ Resting between their bodies.

“It’s been a long time, since we had a girl’s night,” Sana says finally.

Noora’s voice is quiet. “Why haven’t you come back home before this, Sana?”

Sana’s throat suddenly feels clogged; she doesn’t know how to explain, how to even begin to respond.

“The last time I saw you here, a year ago, with Jamilla....” Noora says, still quietly; her eyes are too knowing, too accepting. “But before that… the last time we all saw you was at Eva’s party, and you just left….”

Sana glances away.

“It’s okay, you know,” Noora says. “But I’ve missed you. We all have. It’s not - it’s not the same, without you. I don’t know, sometimes, if it’s worth it. Everyone together, without you.”

Sana can’t hide her look of disbelief. “Everything’s fine for you, Noora. You’re getting married. You have a great career - most of my saved tabs are just of the articles you’ve written-”

“I know, but, that’s not what I meant, Sana,” Noora says. “I meant - it’s - none of it feels - like, it’s not whole. You’re like the missing piece.”

Sana doesn’t know if what happens next is lucky or unfortunate. But Eskild comes outside, a joint in his hand, and lights up, breathing deeply. Sana shakes her head with a smile when he offers it to her; Noora just glares, and unsubtly jerks her head back towards the bar, like she’s signaling for Eskild to go back inside.

He ignores her.

“Damn, Sana, can we talk about your new boyfriend? Yousef, right?” he asks.

Sana nods. “Yeah.”

“He’s a cute one,” Eskild says. “Muslim?”

“Yeah.”

“Good for you, sad for me, I guess,” Eskild pouts. “So good-looking. The kind of man that you’re either staring at or pretending that you’re not staring at, if you know what I mean.”

Noora is annoyed. “Eskild!”

He waves at her. “Sorry hun, but you know, just because you’re a lesbian doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate a sexy man, once in awhile. I swear, you’re so uptight with your sexuality these days. Is that what happens when you decide to assimilate and do the whole marriage thing?”

Noora gives him her patented unimpressed look. Sana doesn’t realize how much she’s missed it until her heart beats painfully in her chest, and she has to look away.

 "Anyway,” Eskild continues, “I can’t believe you get to sleep with that guy.”

“Sana doesn’t have sex before marriage,” Noora says automatically.

“Oh, you don't? Still?” Eskild looks surprised and concerned.

For a moment, Sana sees a look of confusion on Noora’s face. As if her friend is worried, for a second, that she doesn’t actually know the answer to that question. And Sana realizes that it’s been so long since they’ve talked - actually talked, not just random phone calls in the middle of the night or semi-coherent text messages when one of them is sleeping - that Noora really isn’t sure if Sana’s values have shifted so much that she would have sex before she was married.

“Nie, Eskild,” Sana says, watching Noora’s face. “I’m not having sex before I get married.”

“Well, good for you, I suppose,” Eskild says. “Noora used to say the same thing, but let me tell you, I’ve heard Eva moaning through the walls enough to know that- ”

“Eskild!” Noora blushes. “Are you done with that blunt yet?”

He laughs. “It’s not a blunt, Noora, it’s a joint.”

Noora rolls her eyes, and shoots Sana a desperate look. Sana almost laughs, but schools her features into something more serious.

“Learn to control your hoes, Noora,” Sana says, face straight.

Eskild laughs and Noora’s nostrils flare slightly. She looks like she’s trying not to smile, her red lips pressed together in a line. Sana laughs for the both of them.

“What was I saying?” Eskild asks. “Oh, yes. Sana, you should send Allah a gift basket or something, for sending that cute Yousef your way. How did you meet, again?”

Noora answers before she can. “It was at the mosque, wasn’t it, Sana?”

From the way she says it, Sana knows that she’s in for it, as soon as the two of them are alone.

 

+++

 

By bar number six, everyone who’s been drinking is so sloppy drunk that Sana knows the night is over.

Isak takes his second tequila shot at the bar, before slinging his arm around Sana’s shoulders. His breath smells like limes and pure alcohol.

“Sana,” he sings. “Sana banana, nana, Eric Bana, urana, uranium, cranium, nameium, my name is Isak.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Who’s coming to get you, tonight? Even?”

“Yes, Sanasol,” Isak says, resting his head on top of hers. “He should be here soon I think.”

Sana smiles. “I can’t wait to see him-”

“Did you know, that you’re my number one best friend?” Isak interrupts.

“Really?” Sana doesn’t admit that the admission, however drunk, feels good.

“Yeah, really. We’re best buds, remember!”

“Okay, Isak.”

“Yes. and then Jonas, but only slightly more than Eva. It’s cause of his perfect eyebrows.”

Sana snorts. “Jonas? Perfect eyebrows?”

“Don’t you think?” Isak asks. “Oh, wait. You don’t know, you haven’t been here in fucking years, you don’t know that he grew into his eyebrows, now. Him and Mahdi and Magnus were all out tonight, but they’re - man, I love my friends. Beautiful eyebrows, man. Mana. Sana. Sanasol.”

Chris is raising her drink, a sex on the beach. “I gotta - I gotta speech!”

“Speech, speech, speech!” Vilde chants, nodding her head deeply.

“Oh, I love it,” Eva sounds close to tears, leaning heavily on Ingrid.

“To- ” Chris hiccups. “To the spouses who will win us, to the losers who have lost us, and -”

“And!” Eva shouts.

“To the lucky fucking bastards who have yet to meet us!” Chris says, downing her entire drink.

Everyone cheers, even the people who aren’t a part of their little group, and Sana can’t help but smile. She clinks her water glass against Isak’s empty shot glass, and takes a small sip. She notices Sara walking unsteadily up to her and Isak, and closes her eyes for a moment. She wonders if it would be rude to just straight up leave; and then she wonders if she really cares, at this moment.

“Hi, Isak, Sana,” Sara says, collapsing onto an empty barstool near them.

“Sara,” Isak rolls his eyes at Sana.

“Shall I get us all a round?” Sara asks, signaling at the bartender.

“I’m done for the night, thanks,” Isak says.

“Oh,” Sara pauses for a minute, eyeing Sana’s glass. “And you don’t drink, do you.”

It’s not a question, but a condemnation.

“Nie,” Sana says, pursing her lips.

Sara shrugs, then orders herself another tequila shot. She tosses her money on the counter without even looking at the bartender. Isak rolls his eyes, and Sana wishes she were anywhere but here.

“So, your boyfriend seems nice,” Sara says. “Cute, funny. He says he’s a professor?”

“He is,” Sana says.

“Where did you meet him, again?” Sara asks, voice dripping with thinly veiled disdain. “Was it really in a mosque? How would that even work?”

“Sara,” Isak slurs, warningly.

Sana tells herself to breathe. “He’s an old friend of my brother’s. We reconnected in New York.”

“Oh,” Sara says, and then downs her shot. “So it’s one of those arranged things, then?”

“Excuse me?” Sana sees red.

Sara waves her hand. “I'm not trying to be offensive. I'm just like, wondering why you would still have to follow those rules?"

“Excuse me, Sara, do you have the time?” Isak asks. He says it so smoothly Sana wouldn’t even know that he’s had about ten drinks already. “I thought it was the twenty first century, but your Orientalist bullshit make me realize I’m not exactly sure.”

Sana’s mouth practically drops open; she had no idea Isak had that inside of him.

Sara snaps, “I’m just asking a question.”

Sana smiles tightly. “And how’s your boyfriend, Sara? What was his name, again? Svien?”

Sara holds herself stiffly. “We broke up ages ago.”

“Ah, right,” Sana says. “So no date to the wedding?”

She hates this, she hates all of it. The petty tone in her voice, smooth and hard. The fact that she’s a grown woman and has to play these games, has to constantly be on edge and one-upping this horrible, horrible person. The fact that she feels like she’s being squeezed tightly into a box, the walls closing in, everything turning to blackness -

 

_“She spent thousands of dollars to get here and no one even wants her at this party,” Sara said, reapplying her lipstick._

_Sana stood in the bathroom stall rigidly. She wished she had the anger, the strength, to march out and tell these bitches to just fuck off. That these were_ her _friends, of course she was wanted, of course she was invited. It’s Eva’s 30th birthday party, where the fuck else would she be -_

_“Ugh, exactly,” Ingrid said. “Like, she wasn’t even in the groupchat.”_

_“I know!”_

_“Remember what Vilde said, when she was assigning tasks?”_

_“Not really?”_

_Sana’s heart stopped for a moment._

_“Here, listen to this,” Ingrid said, tapping something into her phone. “I was in charge of sending the invitations, remember? And I like, send her the list. Noora says, ‘why isn’t Sana on this?’ and Vilde responds, ‘Sana?’ and Noora goes, ‘Yeah, Sana Bakkoush?’ and Vilde answers, ‘Why would we invite her?’”_

_“Ugh, oh yeah. I can’t believe Noora went behind our backs and invited her anyway-”_

_“I know! Like, did you see Eva’s face when she walked in?”_

_“Completely confused,” Sara agreed. “Like, didn’t it look like she was thinking, ‘uh, who is this? Sana? I don’t know her.’”_

_They both laughed._

_“Yeah, right. And anyway, she’s bringing down everyone’s buzz. I can’t believe she still doesn’t drink.”_

_“Right? Like girl, you’re about to be 30. I’m sure Allah or whatever it’s called won’t give a fuck if you toast with some champagne.”_

_“And that headscarf thingy? Like she’s a grown woman, how can they still force her to wear it?”_

_Sana pushed on the stall door, having heard enough. She was shaking with rage, and she didn’t know what she was going to do. She wanted to cry, she wanted to hit something, she wanted to scream at them, she wanted to do anything to just make them shut up. Make them see her, make it so that they would never make her feel small again._

_But before she could do anything, the bathroom door opened. Eva stumbled in, a huge smile on her face._

_“So, this is where the party’s been hiding!” Eva said, laughing. “Come on bitches, time to dance!”_

_Ingrid and Sara laughed too, slinking out of the bathroom after Eva._

_Sana stood there for a moment, her open palms pressed against the bathroom stall. She leaned against it slightly, her forehead bumping into the plaster. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe, but no air was coming in or out. Everything buzzed. She wondered what the fuck she was thinking._

_One of the most important exams of her life was coming up in two weeks. And she skipped studying, she bought a plane ticket she could barely afford, and she flew halfway across the world. And for what? For this? For women she hadn’t seen in over a year, smiling in her face and wishing she had never come behind her back?_

_Sana pulled her phone out and called her airline. She desperately hoped there was a flight back to New York that night._

 

Sara glares at her, and Sana glares right back. Isak looks like he’s about to step between them, when an achingly soft, familiar voice breaks the tension.

“Is that Sana Bakkoush I see, standing there?”

Sana turns and feels her entire body light up.

“Even!”

His legs are so long that he’s next to her in two giant steps, and soon she’s wrapped up in his arms. She’s still angry, still full of rage; but a laugh escapes her and it’s delighted, not bitter. When they let go, Even is holding her hands, smiling at her softly. Sana holds herself a little stiffly, only relaxing when she notices Sara turning away from them with a glare.

“Not even a hello for the love of your life, huh?” Isak pouts.

Even rolls his eyes. “Sana, how have you been?”

Her smile is genuine. “Fine, I’ve been fine.”

“It should be fine. You’re a hotshot surgeon living it up in New York,” Even grins. “And Isak told me you’re dating Yousef! What a great surprise. Is he here? I Facebook messaged Yousef last night and told him we’d see each other at the picnic but-”

Sana’s mind turns to static for a moment, and she can’t comprehend what Even is saying.

She can’t believe that she forgot that Even was a part of Elias’s squad back in high school. She can’t believe that she forgot that he and Yousef were friends, and still kept in contact through social media. Slowly, she saw her entire plan crumbling before her eyes. Even was going to make an offhanded comment, probably not even thinking, and Isak would think it was fishy. And then he’d discover the whole thing, that Sana was so pathetic that she had to have her older brother’s friend pretend to be her date to a wedding -

“- Because he always had such a big crush on you, when we were younger,” Even says.

“Eh?” Sana shakes herself.

“Adorable,” Isak answers. “Just - uh, what? Fucking adorable! Hey, babe, did you know Sana’s my best bud?”

“Yes, Isak, I know,” Even says, kissing his boyfriend’s hair.

“What, hold on,” Sana says. “Yousef liked me?”

“Wow, I can’t believe he didn’t tell you that!” Even laughs. “Man, I wish he were here, cause I’d love to embarrass him about it. But yeah, he had the biggest thing on you! Whenever you were home, studying or whatever, he’d make up the worst excuses to hang out in the kitchen just to talk to you. Or would always suggest we go over to your place, instead of Mikael’s or Adam’s, just so that he could get a glimpse of you. Man! It was cute as shit.”

“Yousef - Yousef had a crush on me?” Sana says.

“A crush?” Even shakes his head. “I think he was halfway in love with you.”

There are too many things happening; her emotions are spinning wildly, and she wonders if she really did accidently drink something alcoholic.

I’m glad to see you were able to connect in the States and get together,” Even says. “You’re perfect for one another.”

Sana is speechless; but luckily, she doesn’t need to answer.

“Even!” Vilde’s voice is sharp and right in Sana’s ear. “Why are you here?”

“Hi to you too, Vilde,” Even says.

Vilde glares. “Isak is not allowed to leave.”

Isak says, “Why not?”

“Linn, Eskild and Chris have already bailed. We still have one more bar left, and we are all much too young to be heading to bed already. A travesty! The only people left in this party are gonna be me and the brides if you all had your ways!”

“Nie, Sara and Ingrid are still here,” Isak says. “Sana too.”

Sana smiles tightly.

“You think I’m dumb?” Vilde asks.

“Eh?”

Vilde says. “I know that if you and Even leave, you’re taking Sana with you!”

“I promise, if I leave, Sana will stay,” Isak points his finger in Vilde’s face.

 

+++

 

Isak doesn’t keep his promise.

Somewhere on the walk between bar six and bar seven, Even grabs both Isak’s and Sana’s hands and hauls them into an empty alley. Isak giggles uncontrollably and Sana just gives a world-weary sigh. She’s not surprised when the rest of the party doesn’t notice they’re missing. Noora seems too tired; Eva too drunk; Vilde too stressed; Ingrid and Sara too uncaring.

“My car is just down the block,” Even says, peeking out and watching the women walk away.

Sana yawns.

“How many other Evens and Isaks and Sanas do you think are hiding in alleys in the parallel universes?” Isak asks, leaning heavily Sana.

“At least three,” Sana smirks tiredly.

“Come on, Sanasol,” Even says. “I’ll drive you home.”

 

+++

 

It only takes five minutes for Isak to fall asleep in the front seat. Even and Sana look at each other through the rearview mirror and smile.

When Even pulls into Jamilla’s driveway, he promises to see her in the morning.

“Give Yousef a kiss for me until then,” he winks at her.

Sana thinks about what Even said earlier and feels her entire body burn.

 

+++

 

The house is dark when Sana sneaks inside. Her feet stumble over the not-so-familiar terrain, and more than once she has to slap her hand against the wall to keep her bearings. To her overtired ears, every step she takes on the stairs makes an obnoxious creaking noise. She hopes that she doesn’t wake Jamilla and Omar.

She hesitates outside her nephew’s door, wondering if she should knock and see if Yousef is awake or just go back down the hall to her room and sleep.

As she stands there, deliberating, her phone suddenly goes off. The text noise is too loud in the dark hallway, and she fumbles for a minute, searching through her bag for her phone. She squints at the screen, surprise rushing through her chest.

 

[ **Today** , 3:45]

_I know it’s bridal party night, but I haven’t heard from you since you left. Just checking in, are you okay? I know you said not to, but should I come pick you up?_

The door in front of her creaks open hesitantly, and Sana blinks up. Yousef stands on the other side of the frame, his phone in his hand, smiling at her sheepishly.

“I didn’t realize you were here, or I wouldn’t have texted,” he says. “Obviously.”

Sana tries not to smile and shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. Thanks.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he offers. “I didn’t know if you were okay or not.”

A low heat pools in Sana’s stomach, and she just stares at him.

Yousef rubs at the back of his head; he’s embarrassed. “I thought about texting you about a hundred times tonight but thought that might be overkill.”

There are so many things she wants to do in that moment; kiss him, thank him, ask him if he still gets butterflies around her like - she’s assuming, with Even’s big mouth - he did when he was younger. If he’s happy to be here with her, if he wants to actually get to know each other again, if he sees her as anything more than an old friend.

She wonders what she would do, if she wasn’t Sana. If she were Noora or Eva or Chris or Vilde or Jamilla or Ingrid or Sara in this moment. Would she grab his shirt and pull him close to her? Would she invite herself into his room? Would she ask him if he wanted a drink and sneak down into the kitchen, giggling like teenagers?

Everything feels like it’s spinning slightly and she has to remind herself to take a breath.

She hasn’t felt like this since she was a teenager, hopeless and lost and not knowing quite who she is anymore. Being here, being in Oslo, it’s making everything all fuzzy again. It’s making her feel like she’s not enough, even when she’s surrounded by people who seem to be rooting for her. All her old insecurities are sliding back in. She feels phantom hands grabbing at her scarf and snide remarks ringing in her ears and dirty looks through teary eyes.

She doesn’t know what Yousef sees on her face, but he takes a step back. Like he thinks she’s judging him, mocking him, instead of wishing he would just hold her and tell her it was all going to be okay, she was stronger than all of this bullshit.

He clears his throat. “Well.”

“It would’ve been okay, if you texted me,” she says. “Even if it was a hundred times.”

She doesn’t know why she says it, but his smiles lights up the whole hallway. It’s all so endearing but she almost rolls her eyes because they’re in their 30s and are still acting like dorky teenagers.

“Uhm, I better go to my room,” she says. “Dance lesson in five hours.”

He groans. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, I wonder whose fault that is?” she purses her lips, tilts her head.

She’s flirting. She should stop.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promises, his eyes dark and intense.

If she was a more clumsy woman, she would have tripped on her way back to her room. But as it is, she simply says goodnight and wonders what the hell she’s signed up for.

 

+++

 

Sana wakes up to a text message from Chris.

 

[ **Today** 8:09]

_What happened last night?_

 

Sana frowns and begins typing.

 

_What do you mean?_

_You seemed kinda quiet and then Vilde said you left without saying bye to anyone._

_Was it because those ugly bitches were there?_

_Who?_

_Sara and Ingrid._

_Nie._

_I’m just a bit jetlagged still._

_Also I snuck out with Even and Isak._

_You sure?_

_Yeah. It’s nothing._

_I wasn’t the only one who left early though._

_Yeah I know._

_Just want to make sure you’re okay_

_I am. Promise._

_See you at the picnic?_

_See you there boo._

+++

 

Jamilla is the only one in the kitchen, standing at the window with a cup of coffee in her hand. Sana strolls over to the table, grabbing a muffin and eating as she looks over the newspaper.

“Loverboy went on a run,” Jamilla says.

Sana almost chokes. “Eh?”

Jamilla turns to her, grinning. “Yousef. You should’ve seen the way he looked in those basketball shorts.”

“Jamilla!”

Jamilla pretends to fan herself. “I bet he’s gonna look even better when he runs back in her, sweat glistening on his skin and-”

“Aren’t you married?” Sana smirks.

“Yes, to your brother, as a matter of fact.”

“Just making sure you hadn’t forgotten,” Sana laughs.

Jamilla turns back to the window, humming. “So, how was last night?”

Sana looks down at her hands.

“That bad, huh?”

“Eva and Noora seemed really happy,” Sana says finally.

“Dodging the question,” Jamilla responds.

Sana shrugs. “It is what it is. Ingrid and Sara made their snide comments. The bartender tried to hit on me with some lame pick-up line.”

“Gross.”

“It was - you know. Same shit, different year,” Sana says. "I feel too old for all of it."

Jamilla shakes her head. “I don’t know why you just don’t talk to Eva and the rest of the squad about what happened-”

“Nie, Jamilla,” Sana practically snaps.

Jamilla shoots her an unimpressed look. “Those women are your friends, Sana, as you were so fond of telling me when we were at Nissen. You should trust them more to have your back-”

The words slip out unintentionally. “Things change.”

Jamilla softens for a moment, and Sana is horrified to feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She clears her throat and takes another bite of her muffin. It’s dry in her mouth.

“Sana-”

“It doesn’t - look, Sara and Ingrid are Eva’s friends. They’re in the bridal party,” Sana reminds her. “And after this week is over, I’m going back to New York and everyone else is staying here. So I can tough it out for the next few days. Yeah?”

“Sana, it seems like all you do is tough it out,” Jamilla sighs.

The comment stings, even though Sana knows that’s not Jamilla’s intention.

“Honey, I love you more than anything, but you’re a runner, and you know it,” Jamilla says. “You’re strong, but you seem to think that strength is just stoically bearing the pain instead of talking about it, instead of confronting people.”

Sana doesn’t say anything.

“Sorry, I’m not trying to nag,” Jamilla says softly. “It’s just hard, you know - my Mama bear instincts are on like, all the time now.”

At that, Sana laughs, although it’s a little weak. “It’s fine.”

“On a lighter note,” Jamilla has a wicked gleam in her eye. “How’s your fake boyfriend working out?”

Sana almost groans. “Too good, Jamilla. Too good.”

Jamilla wiggles her eyebrows. “How good?”

“Not like that!”

“I hope you’re using protection-” Jamilla can’t even finish her sentence, she’s cackling so hard.

Sana shoots her a nonplussed look. “You done?”

“Not by a long shot-”

“It’s - he makes it hard to remember he’s not actually my partner,” Sana sighs. “He’s being so considerate and funny and slick and so damn cute-”

“Who’s to say he can’t be your real boyfriend, though, Sana?”

Her face is so serious for a moment that Sana feels stuck in her seat.

“Eh?”

Jamilla shrugs. “I’m just saying. You two seem happy. Like you’re having fun.”

Before Sana can respond, the front door opens. She hears Yousef call out a ‘halla,’ and then, suddenly, he’s in the kitchen. She almost chokes on her own spit, staring at him. He’s just got a bandana wrapped around his hair, running sneakers, basketball shorts, and no shirt on. His abs and arms glisten with sweat, and his skin is so tan, so beautiful.

She knows he’s saying something to her, but she’s too distracted to respond properly. She just nods and makes what she hopes is an affirmative noise, distracted by the miles of bare skin and the cocky, lopsided grin on his face. Her skin feels flushed, and by the time he walks out, she knows her whole face is red.

She doesn’t even look at Jamilla but she knows there’s a smirk on her face.

“Not one word, Jamilla Bikarim-Bakkoush,” she snaps, before putting her head down on the table.

Her sister-in-law just laughs at her discomfort.

 

+++

 

Isabella, the dance instructor, waves her hands dramatically. “The wedding dance, _sans doubte_ , is the most important moment in a person’s life.”

Sana and Noora shoot each other a look; Eva jerks her arm and mouths at Noora to pay attention. Sana pretends not to notice the soft look Yousef is throwing her way. It’s hard not to notice, though; the dance studio is small and bright, and there are mirrors literally all over the walls.

“A room full of friends, family, enemies… watching, smiling, betting on how long the marriage will last -”

“Why are there enemies at a wedding?” Eva sounds confused.

Sana tries not to roll her eyes.

Isabella keeps speaking. “- All you will have is each other. And the skills I am able to pass onto you today.”

“I can’t believe Vilde insisted on us doing this,” Noora mutters.

“There are people who will tell you that the wedding dance is a symbol of a couple’s compatibility. Of a… _je ne sais quoi_ … a rapport that cannot be faked.”

“Next she’s going to say that anyone who can’t dance isn’t good at sex, and that if you stumble in the wedding dance, that’s seven year’s bad luck in the bedroom,” Noora says.

“It is true; an unskilled partner on the dance floor is a partner who lacks grace and sophistication in bed,” Isabella waves again.

Sana inadvertently tightens her grip on Yousef’s hand. He squeezes her waist in response, and she wants to die, just a little bit. Noora is wiggling her eyebrows at her, and Eva is making a slight gyrating motion with her hips.

Isabella claps her hands together, and begins to give the couples instructions. It seems like a simple two-step. Sana barely thinks as Yousef begins to lead her around the room slowly, both of their bodies becoming familiar with the music. He pulls her a little bit closer to him, and there’s barely space between them.

“You’re good at this.” She keeps her voice low.

He inclines his head, smiling. “Surprised?”

She smirks a little. “No, I just forgot that you’re a dancer.”

“Most of what I do isn’t like this, though.”

“You make it all seem easy,” she says.

He smiles, and then pulls back slightly, lifting his arm and spins her around. When they come back together, they’re even closer. His fingers bite into her lower back. Trying not to blush, Sana glances at Noora and Eva. They’re clearly having a hard time; Noora is holding herself too stiffly and Eva is looking down at their feet. 

“She knows you better than anyone. You know her better than she knows herself,” Isabella is coaching.

“Which one of us is she talking to?” Noora asks.

“Where does that feeling of knowing, of oneness, where does it live? Find it, and push it into your dancing. Sway like a gentle breeze of the Mediterranean,” Isabella says.

“I’ve never been there, I guess it’s up to you to find the breeze,” Eva grins at Noora. “Lead me, baby.”

Noora jerks awkwardly and manages to elbow Eva in the ribcage instead. Sana has no idea how she’s managed that.

“A mess,” Sana mutters under her breath.

“Let’s show them how it’s done,” Yousef says.

“Eh?”

Before Sana can say anything else, Yousef is singing to the music, soft and low. He has a devious grin on his face; then, without warning, he’s spinning her again, and pulling her tightly against him just as quickly. Everything whirls, and Sana feels, for a moment, that she has no control over her body. It sways with Yousef’s, her feet moving in perfect rhythm.

She has no idea how he got so smooth, but she likes it.

She likes him.

He’s leading her around the studio, her feet barely touching the floor. She doesn’t even look down; their gazes are locked onto one another, and she can’t help but smile back at him, even though his eyes are intense. Through the corner of her eyes, she can see Noora and Eva have stopped dancing. They’re simply holding each other and staring at her and Yousef. Isabella is dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

As the music slows to a stop, Yousef spins her around once more. And then, he dips her back slowly, his arm a strong embrace around her body. She grips the back of his neck tightly, even though she’s not very worried that he’ll drop her. She uses it as a reminder that it would be inappropriate to surge up and kiss him.

“Fuck, Yousef,” Eva squeaks.

Sana jerks slightly, and Yousef brings her back into an upright position. She slowly slides her hand off of his neck, fingers catching in the fabric of his shirt as they move over his shoulder and down his chest. It pauses, right near his heart; she can feel it beating rapidly even through his clothes.

“Maybe we should have you switch partners,” Isabella says, her voice sounding dreamy. “Come here, tall, dark and handsome.”

 

+++

 

Sana and Noora sit against one of the mirrors, not even pretending to dance. They watch as Isabella exclaims and waves her arms around wildly as Yousef and Eva spin around the room. They don’t look bad; Eva only trips over her feet once.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Noora says. “I wasn’t trying to drill you, or anything.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m… I’m glad you found someone that makes you so happy, Sana,” Noora turns her face with a serious look.

A pang of guilt hits Sana, right below her heart.

“Isn’t it funny, how life works out?” Noora smiles slightly. “I can’t believe that you and Yousef hooked up in New York. It’s… serendipitous, you know?”

“Yeah,” Sana nods.

“But you are happy right?” Noora is hesitant.

Sana looks her in the eyes. “Yeah, Noora. I’m happy.”

Noora grabs her hand and squeezes it tightly. “Good. I’m glad. And you know… I don’t think anyone really needs anyone else, you know, to make them whole, or whatever. But when I see you and Yousef… it’s like… the way you look at each other is the way I feel about Eva. It’s amazing, it’s it? Being in love.”

Sana’s throat closes, so all she does is nod.

“And… I’m glad that you’re here,” she says. “I don’t know if Yousef had anything to do with your choice to come, but I’m glad you did.”

That gives Sana pause; she furrows her brow. When she speaks, her tone is more angry that she wants it to be.

“I wouldn’t have missed your wedding for anything, Noora,” Sana says.

“No, I know, okay,” Noora backtracks. “I’m just saying. I know it’s… I know it’s hard to be back here, you know. Same places, same people, different you.”

Sana doesn’t say anything.

“I’m here, you know, if you ever want to talk about why you didn’t come see us, last year,” Noora’s voice lowers. “I didn’t tell Eva or anyone that I saw you.”

 

_“Come on, it’s your favorite coffee shop!” Jamilla laughed._

_“Nie, my favorite coffee shop is in Harlem, Jamilla,” Sana teased._

_Jamilla shoved her slightly, and they walked in together, laughing. The line was pretty long, so they stood at the end of it, chatting quietly and laughing. Sana turned her face to see if there were any empty tables they could steal quickly, when she spotted a flash of white-blonde hair. Her heart dropped, and blue eyes stares back at her in disbelief._

_“Sana?”_

_Noora walked up to her hesitantly, like she was looking at a spirit or a mirage. She had a pencil tucked behind her ear, a brown leather bag slung across her shoulders, and her phone out. Sana could see a recording app was open._

_Beside her, Jamilla shot Sana a worried look._

_“Noora,” Sana tried to swallow, but couldn’t. “Noora. Hi.”_

_“Sana what- what are you doing here?”_

_Sana tried to go for blasé. “Getting coffee?”_

_“What are you doing in Oslo?” Noora shook her head, frowning. “I - how long have you been here?”_

_It had been a week already. A week of mostly staying at Jamilla and Omar’s, helping her niblings with their homework, cooking with her brother, and reminiscing with her sister-in-law. A week of pretending like she was still in New York, begging Jamilla not to put her up on any of her social media accounts and sending sporadic texts to the girls about how she was tired from rounds and it was raining all week._

_“A few days.”_

_Noora held up her phone. “So yesterday, when I asked if you wanted to Skype, and you said you couldn’t because you were on a double shift, you meant, what, exactly?”_

_Sana said, “It’s been hectic, Noora. I’m only here for a couple of days. I thought that lying would be easier than explaining that I didn’t have the energy to hang out with everyone.”_

_“The energy?”_

_“Time, I meant,” Sana stared at the spot between Noora’s eyebrows._

_“Okay,” Noora looked like she wanted to argue, but didn’t._

_Jamilla was staring at Sana, the look on her face asking if she wanted Sana to intervene. Sana didn’t know what to do or say. She and Noora stared at each other for a few minutes, before Noora’s phone started to ring._

_“I - I gotta go, I’m on the clock,” Noora said finally. “Just - will you text me, later?”_

_“I leave tomorrow morning.”_

_“I - fine, okay, Sana,” Noora said quietly. “Okay.”_

_She left without another word._

 

Sana looks down. “Why not?”

“I figured you didn’t say anything for a reason,” Noora says. “I’m not going to pretend to understand, but. I’m here. If you want to talk.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve missed you, you know,” Noora says. “There’s… a lot of things I want to talk to you about...”

Sana stays quiet.

Noora says, “You’re my best friend.”

The words bubble up, and all the things she’s been holding in are on the tip of Sana’s tongue. She wants to confess that she’s not dating Yousef. She wants to ask why two of the Pepsi Max girls are in the bridal party. She wants to know why she wasn’t originally invited to Eva’s party three years ago. She wants to tell Noora all about her job and how happy it makes her. She wants to hear more about Noora’s career and all the moment between her and Eva that she’s missed, being across the Atlantic Ocean.

But the words get stuck in her mouth, her teeth grinding and blocking them from getting out. She looks at Noora’s pale skin and her blonde hair and her loving but worried look, and she shuts it all down. She doesn’t deserve this, she thinks. The old question, the one that haunted her all through high school - _why do these girls even bother with me?_ \- flashes through her head, bright and dizzying.

“I know, Noora,” she says instead, abruptly turning to stare at Yousef and Eva.

 

+++

 

Sana and Yousef stand outside of Jamilla and Omar’s house, waiting for Chris to come pick them up. Sana can feel Omar staring at them from inside the house. When she turns back, he’s got a suspicious look on his face, but waves at her anyway. Sana tries not to laugh.

“If I knew swans hung out in this neighborhood, I might not have said yes,” Yousef says.

Sana can’t tell if he’s joking or serious, though there is a twinkle in his eye. She follows his gaze towards the small park across the street. There’s a pond, and she can see the white speckles of swans swimming leisurely in the sun.

“Hmm?”

“They’re scary creatures, don’t you think? Like they’re ruthless. They look like they’re plotting something.”

Sana laughs. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Listen, if they come over here, I’m hiding behind you. You’re the tough one in this relationship.”

She’s so happy she feels like she’s gonna keel over. “Okay.”

They sit in silence for a moment. It’s nice, comfortable. 

“What would you be doing if you weren’t here?” she asks.

Yousef looks at her through the corner of his eye. “The exact same thing, but in Central Park.”

Sana raises her eyebrows at him. “What?”

He nods seriously. “Yes. We would’ve met for brunch at some fancy place I can barely afford on the Upper West Side, just so I can impress you. Afterwards, we would’ve strolled around the park, cause it’d be too nice to end our date.”

Her heart flutters. “Our date?”

“Yeah, girl.”

“Uh huh.”

“And after we’d strolled around all day, I’d want to invite you back to mine for take-out and bad movies,” he says. “But I’d be too embarrassed about how half my stuff is still in moving boxes.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” she says softly.

A horn honks at them, and it’s Chris.

“You ready for this?” he asks.

“Nie,” Sana says.

It’s weird, she thinks. How she’s already gotten used to be honest with him in these small, intimate moments. She could get used to it, and she doesn’t even scold herself for thinking so.

“Well,” Yousef says. “I’m ready enough for the both of us.”

He takes Sana’s hand and walks her to the car.

 

+++

 

Sana sits at a picnic table with Even, Yousef and Isak. In the distance, Noora has thrown some burgers on a grill, Vilde is manning the salad station, and Chris tends the makeshift bar. Sana has no idea where Eva, Ingrid or Sara are; at the moment, she doesn’t care. The sun is so warm that Sana sort of wants to slink off, back to the B&B, only about a mile down the road from Eva’s family’s cabin, and take a nap.

“Fuck,” Even says. “I’m tempted to call you but if I did, I would lose really fucking badly.”

“Babe,” Isak says, disapprovingly.

“My hand blows,” Even throws own his cards.

Sana raises an eyebrow and looks down at her hand. She tosses a couple of small bills into the growing pot of food in the center of the table.

“Call,” she says coyly.

She glances over at Yousef, who’s wiggling his eyebrows at her over his own cards.

“Well, Yousef, let’s see what you’ve got,” Isak challenges.

Yousef slides some money towards the pot. “Raise you thirty.”

Sana’s phone begins to ring. Before she can reach for it, Even has leaned over Isak, and plucks it out of her hand. Sana protests mildly, laughing and trying to grab it back from him.

“Even! That’s probably my job!”

Even shrugs and answers.

“Hi, sorry, Sana - I man Dr. Bakkoush - is whooping ass in poker right now, she’s gonna have to call you back,” he says.

There’s a confused shout on the other end that Sana can hear from her seat.

Even says, “thank you for understanding, Jeremy.”

Isak shoots her a confused look; Sana rolls her eyes.

“Well, I would say you need to give him fifty CCs of morphine and then simply pop the femur back into place,” Even says seriously. “But then again, I’m not a doctor. Bye!”

He hangs up the phone and Sana snaps her fingers at him.

“Even! What do you think you’re doing? Trying to get my residents to kill my patients?”

“Oh please,” Even snorts.

“What is it you do with them, anyway? Watch Grey’s Anatomy all day?” Isak gives her a shit-eating grin. “Call.”

Isak throws some cash into the pot.

“And what is it you do again? Sit hunched over in a lab all day, growing paler by the second?” Sana says, throwing some more money into the pot.

“I’ll have you know, Even likes my pale ass,” Isak says haughtily, before laying down a pair of aces and twos.

“Yousef, why don’t you show us your cards already before this becomes a bloodbath?” Even laughs.

Yousef chuckles and puts down his hand; he has three of a kind. Isak swears, and Sana laughs out loud. Yousef shoots her a grin, lifting his head up slightly. It’s a challenge and Sana would be lying if she didn’t say it wasn’t so damn sexy. 

“Well, well, well,” Sana says, then smacks her cards onto the table. It’s a low straight.

“Atta girl, Sanasol!” Even cheers.

Sana dos a mock curtsy in her seat and swipes the pile of money towards her. Yousef is staring at her in admiration; Isak is grumbling.

“Well, at least you kicked Yousef’s ass too,” Isak says.

“Oh, she always does, especially at basketball,” Yousef says casually. “It’s what I love the most about her.”

Sana’s eyes shoot to Yousef’s; he’s looking at her seriously.

“You two still play?” Even grins. “Shit, that’s cute. Babe, I remember when we were in high school, Yousef used to challenge Sana to one-on-one matches all the time. I think that was the only way he knew how to flirt with her.”

Sana’s voice is caught in her throat; she barely hears Isak’s response. In her peripheral, she sees Noora wandering over, holding a plate full of hamburger patties. She gives Yousef a small smile before turning her face to look over at Noora.

“I hope that’s all going towards my wedding gift,” Noora says.

“Hah,” Sana says.

Noora raises her eyebrows. “Anyone seen my future wife, by the way? She’ll murder me if I don’t serve her first.”

“Disgusting.” Isak tilts his head. “Have you ever had a real, honest-to-God fight?”

It’s on the tip of Sana’s tongue to scoff and say that of course they haven’t, it’s Noora and Eva. But Noora freezes for a moment, a pained look crossing over her face. Sana’s smile falls into a frown, and she feels stuck for a millisecond, unsure about what just happened. She’s not even certain that the boys have noticed, because then Noora’s grinning back at Isak like nothing’s happened.

Noora clears her throat. “Of course we have.”

“Yeah, okay,” Isak scoffs.

“It’s true, and you know what else,” she winks. “Make-up sex is the best kind.”

They all laugh, and Sana rolls her eyes. She rises from her seat.

“I’ll go and try to find your bride-to-be,” she says. “I need the bathroom, anyway.”

Noora smiles. “Thank you, Sana.”

 

+++

 

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

Sana barely registers the words as she enters the family cabin, eyes scanning for Eva.

“I said yes!”

 Sana furrows her brow at Eva’s annoyed tone of voice.

"Do you even remember what happened last year, though? What if a ring doesn't keep her-"

"Ingrid, I'm getting married tomorrow! Shit -"

Without thinking, she enters the kitchen and sees Ingrid and Eva standing close to each other. Eva’s arms are crossed over her chest; Ingrid’s back is to Sana. In a moment, Eva looks up and shock registers on her face as she stares at Sana. Ingrid turns slightly, and rolls her eyes.

“Creeping much?” Ingrid says.

Sana doesn’t take her eyes off of Eva. “Eva?”

Eva glances away. “Yeah, Sana? Everything okay?”

“Should I be asking you that?” Sana counters.

“It’s fine. What’s up?” Eva still won’t look at her.

“Noora is looking for you,” Sana says slowly. “Food’s ready.”

“Yeah, got it. Thanks,” Ingrid snaps.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Well, I’m talking to you,” Ingrid says. “And you’re interrupting something, so you can just, go run along.”

Sana glares. “I don’t think I will, thanks.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do than bother us?” Ingrid laughs, and it’s short and bitter. “Like, isn’t it about time for you to go and pray to a cow, or something?”

Something is Sana pulls tightly and breaks. She jerks, stepping up towards Ingrid. A flash of triumph shoots through her as Ingrid takes an unsteady step backwards, almost knocking into Eva.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“You heard me loud and clear,” Ingrid’s voice doesn’t shake. 

“Ingrid, that’s enough!” Eva shouts, moving to step between them. “Fy faen, what is wrong with the two of you? 

Sana is sure she heard wrong. “Excuse me?”

Eva is flustered. “Sana, just take a breath and relax. Ingrid, just - just shut up with the racist shit, okay. Muslims don’t even - that’s Hindus, I think-”

Rage boils over. “Wow, thanks for the solidarity, Eva, but next time -”

Ingrid is yelling, now. “Eva, why is she even here? You haven’t been friends for years. I be she doesn’t even know about-”

“That was a long time ago,” Eva glares.

Ingrid laughs harshly. “Still-”

“Ingrid-” Eva starts.

Ingrid says. “It’s bullshit. She straight up ignores you for the past, what, three, four years, and now she just wants to show up and be a part of this, showing off with her fancy job and her boyfriend like anyone gives a shit about her? Right.”

The tears and rage are clawing up Sana’s throat, and she doesn’t know what to do now. Part of her wants to run, just wants to get the fuck out of the cabin. Another part wants to scream and claw and just shut Ingrid up. And a bigger part is waiting - already disappointed, already exhausted - for Eva to defend her. For Eva to say that Sana is wanted, that Sana is enough, that Sana belongs here, with her and their friends.

She can’t stop staring at Eva, now, and she’s beginning to notice all the small things. Her hair is slightly greasy and her eyes are rimmed red. The nail polish on her finger nails are chipped, and she’s wearing that one ragged flannel, the one she only ever wears when she’s too stressed out to find anything else. How she won’t even meet Sana’s gaze.

“What’s going on here?”

The question breaks the tension. Sana turns her gaze and notices Sara walking out of the guest bedroom, hair rumpled like she just woke up from a nap. She has a confused look on her face, but still manages to throw a disparaging glance towards Sana.

Sana can’t do anything but laugh. It’s dark and bitter, like the coffee she drinks when she has to be awake and in surgery at three in the morning. She turns on her heels, not waiting for another word, and walks out of the cabin.

 

+++

 

Sana’s halfway down the road, back towards the B&B, before she even realizes that someone is calling her hame. She pauses, confused, and she stares at the trees all around her. It’s like she’s been walking in a hypnosis; she’s not even sure how she got here. And then, a familiar smell is enveloping her, and strong arms are around her waist, pulling her close. Sana takes a deep breath, like she’s emerging from deep water for the first time in ages.

“Hey, hey, Sana,” Yousef’s voice is tender and soft in her ear. “Are you okay?”

“No,” she says. ”No, I’m not, I have to get out of here, I need to - everything is -”

Her arms go around him almost on autopilot, and her fingers scramble for purchase around his shoulders. She buries her face in his chest, trying to stop herself from crying. She’s a grown fucking woman, she shouldn’t be brought down by the bitter words of some bitch who -

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. Let’s go.”

 

+++

 

They end up in Yousef’s room, laying down on the bed together. They’re both on their backs, a foot apart, though their hands are almost touching. Sana watches at the fan blades spin slow, lazy circles around and around. Almost everything in the room is a soft yellow with accents of baby blue and wicker furniture. It smells vaguely like sand, though they’re miles from the ocean.

“We don’t have to stay,” he says.

 Sana don’t respond.

 

“But I think we should. Fuck the haters, girl,” Yousef continues.

“It’s not that simple.”

“What would happen if it was, though? If you just said, fuck them?”

“I’d probably spontaneously combust,” Sana mutters.

His fingertips twitch against hers.

“Do you remember the day we met, Sana?”

She turns her head, looking at him. His eyes are dark, focused. A lock of hair has fallen across his forehead and it’s so endearing she wants to cry.

Yousef doesn’t wait for a response. “It was my first year at Bakka, and Elias invited me over to study for our biology exam. Instead, we spent hours playing Soul Caliber and the next thing I knew, it was almost midnight. We were both sure we were gonna fail.”

Sana smiles.

“You had been sick in bed all day, so I hadn’t even met you. But then Elias tells me, he goes, ‘Come on, my sister is a genius. She’ll help us.’ So we knock on the door, go into your room - you remember?”

“Yes,” Sana says. “You only gave me two seconds to put my hijab back on.”

“So we go in there, and you’re buried in a mountain of blankets and tissue boxes. And I’m staring at you, thinking, what’s a middle schooler gonna teach me about biology? We’re definitely failing. But Elias goes, ‘Sana, please, please, I beg of you.’”

“He did all my chores for two weeks, after that.”

“And you give us this world-weary sigh, and snap at me - ‘go get the flashcards, from my desk’ - without even introducing yourself. Of course, I do what you say. And I get the flashcards and it’s like - wow, what the fuck? Cause all the information we need, it’s right there, in your cute handwriting.”

“Elias used to let me borrow his textbooks so I’d be ahead of my class,” Sana admits.

“Yeah, and I’m so thankful for that. We sat at the foot of your bed and you quizzed us for hours, finally drilling everything about the circulatory system into my head. I got an A on that exam, literally the highest I’ve ever done in a science class.”

“You’re welcome.”

Yousef grins. “My point is, Sana, even back then, you were a force of nature. You’ve always been, or seemed, sure of yourself. You were confident and funny and didn’t take any shit. But you also didn’t hesitate to help your brother, or me. Some random kid you never even met before.”

“Okay,” Sana’s voice is soft.

“And I still see all of that in you. You’re so strong, you’re amazing. I’m not telling you how to feel, but really, you’re so much better than those women could ever hope to be,” Yousef says. “I - and I think you don’t need me to say all that, because I hope you already know.”

“It’s…” Sana sighs. “You think… I thought it would get easier, the older I got. To not feel so insecure, to worry less about everyone else. But sometimes I still feel like that sixteen year old.”

“It’s a process,” Yousef says. “You know? I don’t think anyone ever wakes up one day completely over their traumas or their insecurities.”

Sana doesn’t say anything for a long moment. She shifts her hand, brushing her fingers against the back of Yousef’s. He turns his palm upwards, sliding his fingers against hers and squeezing slightly.

“I guess so.”

“Sana, if you want to leave, head back to Jamilla’s or go back on a plane to New York tonight, I’m with you,” he says. “Whatever you want to do. I’ll be right by your side. But I don’t think you should let this run you out. Eva and Noora love you, and this is their wedding.”

“I don’t know about Eva,” she says bitterly.

He pauses for a moment, like he’s not sure if he should argue with her or not.

“Okay. regardless of if you feel that way now, you must also know that Noora wants you to be here more than anything,” he says.

Sana hesitates. “I know.”

“And if it were me, I wouldn’t let some racist bullshit drive me away from my best friend’s wedding,” Yousef says. “You know? Don’t only do it for them, for her. But consider it, for yourself.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Sana admits.

“Okay. Then we won’t.”

They’re quiet for a moment.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Sana says.

He says, “me too.”

“I’ve been talking about me all weekend,” Sana says. “That’s really not fair. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, isn’t that what I’m here for?”

“Yeah,” Sana says. “Yeah.”

He squeezes her hand again. “I’ll tell you a secret, how about that?”

She cocks one eyebrow. “Okay.”

“After I left your room, all those years ago, at five in the morning, right before fajr… that’s when I...”

“You?”

He smiles. “I realized I was a little bit in love with you.”

Her heart beats wildly, and she can’t stop smiling. “Oh, yeah?”

He nods. “I was a goner.”

“I already knew that you had a crush on me,” she teases.

“Oh really? Since when?”

“Since Even told me at the bachelorette party.”

He laughs. “Wow. No loyalty. Wow.”

“Did you write my name next to yours in your notebook?” she asks.

“Sana!”

“What? Did you draw little hearts around our initials?” she grins. “You totally did.”

“I did not!” he says unconvincingly.

She continues; this is too much fun. “Did you tell Even that you wanted to marry me? Did you call me your soulmate?”

His gaze turns softer, more serious. Sana’s heart pounds in her chest and for a moment, she forgets the rest of the drama of the day. The thought that she isn’t enough is pushed back and she’s left with being in the moment, just her and Yousef.

“I still call you that,” he says.

“Oh,” she gasps.

“Yeah.”

“So my pretend boyfriend real loves me,” she says.

“Yes.” His voice is clear and strong, no hesitation.

She turns her head and grins at the ceiling fan. This time, her hand squeezes his.

“How about a real date,” she says, slowly, “When we get back home?”

“Yes,” he says quickly, then pauses. “Though I should probably tell you...”

“Hmm?”

“I asked Elias to help me ask you out, in high school,” he says all in a rush. “Right before I left for my fellowship in Istanbul. I thought, well, it’s now or never.”

She’s speechless.

“But I chickened out at the last moment. He’s never let me live it down,” he says.

“I - he never said anything.”

“Yeah. And after that, I always thought it was too late. You know, you’d be the one who got away. But then I got offered a great position in New York and...”

“And?”

“I asked Elias if you were seeing anyone, and if he thought you might be interested in grabbing coffee with me or something,”

Sana grinned manically, and wondered how exactly she ever thought Yousef was a mature, smooth gentleman, when he was so very clearly still the same sweet dork as he had always been.

“And then he told me that Jamilla was trying to find you a fake wedding date, and I begged him to convince you I’d be a good candidate,” he says all in a rush.

“Wow.”

“Yup.”

“Yousef,” she laughs, breathless. “Awwwh!”

“What? Don’t ‘awwh” me!” his embarrassed voice is so cute, she thinks. “Stop, I’m blushing. Come on.”

She turns her head to look at him. He’s already grinning at her, his face flushed. She wants to stare at his face forever, she thinks, smiling back so hard her cheeks hurt.

 

+++

 

Yousef wears a bright pink tie that matches her outfit perfectly. Sana simply looks at it and smiles, not saying anything.

 

+++

 

Even through her nerves, Sana has to admit the backyard looks magical.

There are paper lanterns and lit candles everywhere, giving things a soft glow. The table is full of the bridal party, their dates, and loads of other friends. Noora sits at one end, and Eva at the other. Sana is between Vilde and Chris, Yousef sitting right across from her and staring with twinkling eyes the entire meal.

She’s managed to ignore Sara and Ingrid, and has barely looked at Eva all night. As time goes on, she tries more and more to ignore the pit in her stomach. She reminds herself that she’s here and she’s wanted. Even if it’s not by Eva.

“You did a great job, Vilde,” Sana says.

Vilde’s whole face lights up. “I would hope so. Imagine, doing this for six years and I fuck up Noora and Eva’s wedding.”

“You can do Yousef and Sana’s too,” Chris says off-handedly.

Sana almost chokes on her water. 

“Yeah, though it might be a bit challenging to do it transcontinentally,” Vilde nods. “Unless you and Yossi are coming back to Oslo to be married?”

“I-”

“Oooh, or a destination wedding might be nice too, Turkey or Morocco,” Vilde says. “I’ll start looking up Muslim wedding traditions right away. There’s more than one ceremony, right? The religious one, with the imam, and then one for friends?”

Sana wants to laugh. “Vilde. Shh.”

She makes eye contact with Yousef over the table; her face grows warm when he winks at her.

“So, have you lovebirds talked kids yet?” Chris asks. “I know it might be early, but they’d be so damn cute and smart.”

“Oh, I have an app on my phone that shows you what your children would look like, you know, one of those things that morphs your faces together,” Vilde claps excitedly.

“And you know what, Chris is a perfect name for a child of any gender,” Chris adds.

Sana tries to think of a way out of this conversation, but it’s too late.

“We actually have talked kids,” Yousef says, smiling.

“Ah, fucking hell! That’s great,” Chris says.

“Yeah, I can tell how much you two love each other already,” Vilde says.

“How many kids were you thinking?” Chris asks.

Sana says, “Two.”

At the same time Yousef answers, “twelve.”

Chris spits out her wine, spraying it all over the rolls on the table. “Christ!”

Sana can’t tell if Yousef is joking or not, but she almost chokes as well. “Twelve?”

“Two?” he shakes his head. “Two? Wow. Okay.”

“What does that mean?” Sana asks, exasperated. “I should be the one asking -”

“You know, you promised me you loved kids when we first got together,” Yousef says. “But if you only want two kid, obviously you’ve lied.”

“Fuck, Yousef, twelve kids!” Chris wipes the back of her hand.

Vilde whispers to Sana, “What does he want, a football team or something?”

“You get it,” Yousef smiles at Vilde, nodding his head.

Sana tries her best not to laugh as Vilde’s mouth drops open and Chris’s eyes go impossibly wide.

 

+++

 

Eskild taps his knife against his champagne glass, loudly clearing his throat. “Okay, story time now, let’s all hush up, that include you, Isak.”

Down the table, Sana and Isak share an eyeroll. Eskild stands up slightly, still hitting his glass.

“Eskild, sit down,” Noora is exasperated. 

He ignores her. “Okay, so I’m going to tell the story of how Nooreva met, okay? Okay, good.”

“You weren’t even there,” Noora rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, well, I’ve listened to you tell it so many times, I know it by heart, I’m practically the bartender that had to hear the entire conversation,” Eskild says.

Chris says, “You have to start from the beginning though, do you know that part? How Vilde was crying because Pepsi Max threw her off the bus-”

“We - it wasn’t like that -” Sara is annoyed.

“- and I asked Eva to find Chris, but she got Penetrator Chris - ” Vidle says.

“Hey, wasn’t that also the night Ingrid called Eva a slut?” Chris asks.

Sana bites down on her tongue and stares at her water.

“Yes, it was,” Noora says. “As a matter of fact, the first thing I said to Eva was about how girls who call other girls sluts have an increased risk of getting chlamydia-”

“Okay, who’s story is this?” Eskild demands.

“Mine, Eskild!” Noora practically shouts.

Ingrid glance at Eva with a worried look on her face. “In my defense -”

“Will all of you hens stop clucking and let me finish the story,” Eskild sounds desperate.

“That term is rooted in misogyny,” Linn pipes in.

Sana feels her phone vibrating in her pocket. When she pulls it out, it’s her prayer reminder. She leans over to Chris and tells her she’ll be back soon, and shifts to leave. Yousef smiles at her and Eskild calls out that she better not be trying to get out of storytime, or that there will be consequences.

Sana rolls her eyes.

 

+++

 

She can still hear them in the bedroom. She tries to breathe and find her focus, her calm. But even as she presses her forehead to the floor, she feels too distracted. She closes her eyes, reminding herself to be grateful and to think past all of the drama; to focus on Allah and everything - everyone - He has blessed her with.

 A nagging part of her heart reminds her that this includes Eva.

 

+++

 

When she exits the room, Ingrid is standing there. Sana scowls, and tries to push past her. She tells herself to just ignore Ingrid. She repeats to herself the same damn mantras she’s been thinking over and over this weekend. All of the ones that she should have been able to just leave behind the moment she graduated from Nissen.

“I’m just waiting for the bathroom,” Ingrid says sharply. “No need to have an attack.”

Sana whirls around. “What exactly is your problem with me, Ingrid?”

“My problem?”

“Yeah, your problem,” Sana seethes. “I’ve done nothing to you, and yet you’ve continuously been snarky and rude this entire weekend. If you don’t like me, fine. If Eva really doesn’t want me here, okay. But Noora does. So why don’t you just shut up and at least pretend to be a mature adult woman?”

“Oh, this is just so rich,” Ingrid laughs. “This is so typical!”

“I can’t be bothered, Ingrid,” Sana says.

“No, you can’t, can you? Ugh, you’re so - you’re so holier than thou, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You always have been, holding your nose up and like you’re too good for all of it. Being a sober and uppity virgin, thinking our culture - my culture, Norwegian culture - is so loose and moraless, while you act like a frigid bitch.”

 Sana’s mouth drops open. Her mind races, all her thoughts turning to static on a screen.

“Well I got news for you, Sana. Just because you think you’re better than everyone doesn’t mean you are. So what, you’re a surgeon in New York? So what, you have a boyfriend? You think he’s gonna stick around for some thirty year old who he can’t fuck and who walks around with a stick up her ass?”

Sana feels her body relax, and it’s like the television has found it’s picture again. The absolutely absurdity of the entire situation has finally begun to dawn on her, and she doesn’t know how. She can’t say what’s triggered it; only now, she’s looking at Ingrid, white and blonde and thin, and listening to the bullshit she’s spewing, and she’s just done.

Sana isn’t the pathetic one.

Yes, she has her insecurities. And she gets down on herself and she sometimes doesn’t believe in her worth. But she would never speak to someone the way Ingrid has spoken to her. She would never use someone’s faith to belittle them. And now that she’s grown, she knows there’s nuance and meaning in different cultures. She’s Muslim and she’s Moroccan and Norwegian and New Yorker too, at this point.

“God, and this is so typical, you just waltz into things and fuck everything up, it’s like that party, freshman year-”

“What are you even talking about?” Sana finds her voice. “That was - Ingrid, that was almost ten years ago, do you know how pathetic you sound? Do you even hear the words coming out of your mouth?”

“I-”

Sana laughs, but it doesn’t come out bitter. Instead, it feels powerful. It’s like suddenly, she recognizes the situation for what it is. Someone being mean and bitter because she’s scared and jealous and insecure. And Sana can’t believe she’s having this conversation, right here, right now. As a 30-something year old surgeon with at her best friends’ rehearsal dinner.

“I don’t even know why - why have I been so concerned about you and Sara?” Sana shakes her head. “Why did I ever care? You sound just like all my middle school bullies, and you know what? I’m just over it. You don’t even know me, Ingrid. You don’t know a damn thing about who I am.”

“You-”

“Nie, Ingrid,” Sana brings her hand up to her mouth and shushes her. “Stop talking.”

She walks away before Ingrid can say another word.

 

+++

 

The only people left at the table at Vilde and Eva by the time Sana gets back to them. Sana hesitates, unsure if she should join them or not. She’s not sure how long she stands there before Vilde looks up at her and smiles; Eva hesitantly nods.

“Hi,” Sana says, clearing her throat. “Where’d everyone go?”

“This way and that,” Vilde answers. “Yousef went to go help Even move some stuff out of his car.”

“Oh, okay,” Sana says.

Eva bites her lip. “Do you want to-”

“You horrible bitch!”

Sana turns, startled at the screech. Then, suddenly, she’s drenched in red wine.

“Sara!” Eva shouts.

Sara stands in front of her, empty wine glass in one hand, and a phone in the other. Sana lifts her hand to wipe the alcohol out of her eyes; she’s so shocked she can’t do anything but stand there.

“Why are you such a miserable, selfish creature?” Sara snaps.

Vilde moves up beside Sana, and begins to shout in Sara’s face. “Why don’t you just go fuck off, Sara!”

Sara is still glaring at Sana. “Who do you think you are, seriously? That was a nice little speech back there, but it’s not going to change anything. Eva doesn’t want you here.”

Eva says, “Sara-” 

“You don’t want to believe me, here,” Sara thrusts her phone at Sana.

Almost unthinkingly, Sana takes it from her and looks at the text messages.

 

[ **Aug 18** 5:09]

_I don’t know if that works, I’m still not sure what time Sana gets in._

_She’s coming to the wedding? For real?_

_Noora said she confirmed. Her and +1._

_I know she’s your friend and all, but I’m just hoping it won’t be too much drama._

_Especially after what happened at my 30th…_

_Exactly._

_Okay. You’re sure she’s definitely in the bridal party?_

_Noora won, so she’s gonna be her on her side._

_Hmm._

_Well._

_And you’re okay with that?_

_Even after what happened two years ago..._

_I guess._

_I can’t do anything. If she comes, she comes._

_I’ll just play nice and then I won’t see her again for another few years._

_Sounds like a plan._

_You know I got your back, right?_

_I know._

Sana looked up from Sara’s phone slowly, jaw slack and eye shining with unshed tears. All of her cool and calm from just a few minutes before escaped her. She felt like she was deflating, like an old balloon.

“Sana - Sana wait -”

She doesn’t realize that she’s moved until Eva is right in front of her, face panicked. Sana pushes by her, slipping Sara’s phone into her open hands. Vilde is there, trying to stop her; she pulls away, massively hurt and confused. She doesn’t know where she’s going, but she stumbles along. Eva’s voice sounds like it’s far away and muffled. It’s just like earlier, only much, much worst.

“Sana! Sana!” Vilde is calling after her.

She thinks she hears Isak asking, “What’s going on? Sana?”

 Sana just staggers away.

 

+++

 

All of the lights are low by the time Sana hears a low, tentative knock on her door. She turns over in bed onto her side, staring out of the window and towards the moon. She doesn’t answer the knock, and instead looks down at her cell phone.

There’s a number of unread texts from Eva, Vilde, Chris and Noora, as well as two unlistened to voicemails. There are also a couple of read messages from Jamilla, telling her that she’d come to get her as soon as possible in the morning, that she was just a text away.

Her door creaks open slightly anyway, and Sana doesn’t bother to look at who it is. Sana feels the bed dip slightly, and then hesitant hands stroking her back.

“Hey, girl,” Yousef’s voice is soft.

“Halla.” Her voice is dry.

“I ran into Vilde,” he says.

“Oh.”

“I heard about what happened.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Sana.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does, Sana-”

“I shouldn’t have even bothered to come. I shouldn’t have - ” she takes a deep breath. “Anyway. Jamilla says she can come pick us up, in the morning. If you - if you want to leave with me.”

He sounds confused. “Sana, of course. Where you are, I’m at.”

She turns over, now. “You sure?”

His face is completely serious. “I’m only here because of you. Only here for you, Sana.”

She doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t know the details, but have you tried talking to Eva, just the two of you? I’m sure it will work out. Maybe it’s a misunderstanding-”

“Nie, Yousef,” she says tiredly. “I thought… you know, this whole time, I thought it was Sara and Ingrid I had to worry about the most. But…”

“Why don’t you try telling Eva how you feel?” Yousef says. “Maybe it… maybe being honest with your friends will...”

“You sound like Jamilla,“ Sana says, gesturing towards her cell. “‘There’s no way that was Eva who said all that stuff. Confront her.’ Yeah, okay.”

“Afraid of spontaneous combustion?”

He’s trying to joke, to lift her mood, but it doesn’t work. Sana turns back around, a few tears leaking out of her eyes.

“No. Just tired, Yousef.” she sighs. “I also… I’ve been hiding for so long. I even brought you here, my fake boyfriend, to make everything seem okay. What am I even supposed to say now?”

He doesn’t answer.

“I - I’m glad you’re here, I wasn’t lying. I don’t take that back,” Sana says. “And I know… at least right now… that I am enough, for me. But maybe I’m just not enough for Eva, for any of them. Maybe that’s how it always was and how it will just have to be.”

“Sana...” he pauses. “What time do we leave tomorrow?”

She can tell he wants to say something else but just rubs her back slowly.

“I don’t know,” she says.

“Okay,” he answers.

She turns on her back, and shifts her head to look at him. He has a concerned look on his face, his snapback keeping his hair off of his face.

“You think I should stay for the ceremony.” It’s not a question.

 “Yes,” he tells her. 

“Why?”

 He pauses. “Sometimes when you think friendships are over, it’s really just… getting in your own head.”

 Sana says, “I don’t know Yousef. I don’t know.”

 

+++

 

Sana doesn’t stay on the bed after Yousef leaves. She could barely sleep, just staring at all the shadows on her ceiling. Instead, she began packing up her room, prepared to text Jamilla in the morning to just come and get her and Yousef.

It’s already past midnight by the time she hears another soft knock on the door.

Eva’s voice wafts through softly. “Sana?”

Sana closes her eyes briefly but doesn’t answer. Eva opens the door slowly, entering the room anyway.

“Hey,” she says.

Sana turns, sticking her tongue out slightly. “Hey.”

“Can I come in?”

Sana nods slightly, turning back to her suitcase. Eva comes into the room, perching stiffly on the edge of Sana’s bed.

“I want to apologize for what happened earlier,” Eva says.

“Okay.”

“I talked to Sara and Ingrid,” Eva says. “They told me what happened-”

“Did they, Eva?” Sana snaps, turning around again. “Did they tell you what happened? Or did they talk about the scary, Muslim bitch who keeps showing up where she’s not wanted?”

Eva’s mouth drops open and she’s completely silent for a moment. “Sana, what is even going on with you-”

“I know that you don’t want me here, Eva,” Sana says. “Just like you didn’t want me at your 30th. Which - fine, okay? But Noora does. So at least have the decency to ask your friends to pretend to like me.”

“Like I didn’t- Sana, what the fuck?” Eva’s brow is furrowed. “I do want you here. And - and I did want you at my party. What is - you’re the one who left without saying a word! You’re the one who dodged my calls and my texts, the one who didn’t - when Noora and I almost - And when I came to New - ”

She turns her face away, mouth forming into a hard line. Sana doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m not - I’m not having that conversation, not right now,” Eva says softly. “But I do want you here, Sana.”

Sana’s voice is caught, deep in her diaphragm. She opens her mouth, but no words come out. A flash of hurt spreads across Eva’s face, and she fumbles with her phone. She takes it out of her pocket, and leaves it on the bed next to her before getting up. Sana freezes as Eva walks to the door.

“There’s no lock on my phone,” Eva says. “I saw what Sara showed you, and I just came here to say that wasn’t the whole truth. She deleted parts of the conversation. If you want to - I left the texts open. Feel free to read them, or any other messages, or don’t.” 

Eva walks over to the door, hand on the knob before she turns her face slightly. Sana can see that her face is wet, even partially hidden by her dirty blonde hair.

“If you leave in the morning, just give my phone to the concierge.”

 Eva closes the door behind her softly. Sana bites her bottom lip and stares at the phone for a long time.

 

+++

 

After ten minutes, she finally grabs the phone. As Eva said, a conversation between her and Sara are up on the screen. The conversation.

 

[ **Aug 18** 5:09]

_I don’t know if that works, I’m still not sure what time Sana gets in._

_She’s coming to the wedding? For real?_

_Yes! :)_

_Noora said she confirmed. Her and +1._

_I know she’s your friend and all, but I’m just hoping it won’t be too much drama._

_Drama? HAH._

_Sana is the most low-key friend of the group._

_I just hope she’s okay and has fun, too._

_Especially after what happened at my 30th…_

_When she just left without a word._

_Exactly._

_That’s exactly what I mean about drama._

_I’m sure it’s going to be okay._

_Okay. You’re sure she’s definitely in the bridal party?_

_???_

_Of course she’s going to be._

_Noora and I argued for hours whose side she’s gonna be on._

_Noora won, so she’s gonna be her on her side._

_Hmm._

_Well._

_And you’re okay with that?_

_LOL Yes._

_As long as she’s here._

_Even after what happened two years ago…_

_I’m just saying she totally blew you off._

_I don’t want to talk about it._

_Noora and I are good, okay?_

_And Sana is my friend._

_So just lay off of it._

_Okay, okay._

_What about your grandmother?_

_T_ _he one who said lesbianism is a faze?_

_You okay with her being there?_

_I guess._

_I can’t do anything. If she comes, she comes._

_I’ll just play nice and then I won’t see her again for another few years._

_Sounds like a plan._

_You know I got your back, right?_

_I know._

 

The phone almost slips out of Sana’s hand. She sits down on the bed, hard; she stares at the wall, seeing nothing.

 

+++

 

“Good, you’re still here. Now get up!”

Sana groans as the sound of curtains being pulled back; the sunlight hits her face directly and she tries to pull the blankets over her head. She’s never been hungover before, but she imagines this is what it feels like. She’s overtired and her head hurts and there are too many feelings swimming around to focus.

Sana peeks her head out of the blankets and glares at the blonde hair. “Ni-”

“Don’t you ‘nie Vilde’ me!” Vilde says, hands on her hips.

Vilde’s hair is perfectly made up, but she doesn’t have any makeup on her face yet. She’s wearing a silky pink robe over a pair of sweatpants.

“Ugh,” Sana says.

“We’re on a tight schedule, Sana, and seeing as that you’re still here, I’m assuming you’re making the wedding,” Vilde says.

“You know what they say about assuming,” Sana mutters.

“Eva told me what happened. And it’s all bullshit, Sana. Straight bullshit. This is her and Noora’s day. I’ve planned everything to a T. And I’m not gonna let some - some racist women ruin it all!”

Sana glares. “You don’t know-”

Vilde cuts her off. “I do know what happened, because I straight up beat it out of those bitches!”

Sana furrows her eyebrows and half-sits up in bed. Vilde plops down next to her, rubbing her hands. When Sana looks down, she gasps. A bruise has started forming on Vilde’s knuckles.

“Vilde!”

“What?” Vilde gives her a wide-eyed look.

Sana picks up her hand, runs her fingers over the knuckles.

“Oh, no, I didn’t actually -” Vilde shakes her head quickly. “This is from a decorating mishap. Nie, Chris and I heard Sara and Ingrid talking shit about you. And I heard them talk about everything. All the shit they pulled this weekend.”

“Ah,” Sana says.

“They’re bitter and jealous hags,” Vilde says. “And I can’t - Sana, we love you more than anything. Everyone wants you here. We’ve missed you so much.”

Sana doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t know what they’ve said to you, but -” Vilde says.

“Yousef’s not really my boyfriend,” Sana blurts out.

“- it’s all lies,” Vilde finishes weakly. “What?”

Sana sighs, and drops her head. “Well, maybe he is, now. But when I brought him, it was fake. Because I… was so insecure about coming back.”

Vilde repeats herself. “What?”

“Part of it was because of Ingrid and Sara. I was… feeling really insecure,” Sana admits. “But another part of it was… I was scared of not fitting in with you all, anymore. Of being the odd man out.”

Vilde frowns, but doesn’t interrupt.

“So I brought Yousef as my fake date to - I don’t know. Protect myself? Except that didn’t work. Because Sara and Ingrid still got to me, and Eva and I….” Sana sighs. “I know that everything they’ve done this weekend has been out of spite. But… my insecurities…. These past few years...”

“Sana, you’re the one who left, though,” Vilde says quietly.

“I know, but… ” Sana hesitates. “Sometimes, it’s… ever since I was in high school, sometimes I feel like I don’t fit in with you. Like I don’t fit in anywhere.”

“Since high school?”

“It feels like I’m caught, sometimes. Or, it did. That I wasn’t Muslim enough nor Moroccan enough nor Norwegian enough. And I think it took leaving for me to discover that I am. But all that old bullshit just came back. I was… scared, to be back here. Ever since Eva’s 30th...”

“Eva’s 30th?” Vilde shakes her head. “That - wait. Did something happen? Is that why you just left?”

Sana sighs. “I overheard Sara and Ingrid saying that I wasn’t even invited, originally. That you… asked why I would get an invitation. That Eva didn’t even want me there.”

Realization dawns in Vilde’s face. “Sana, that’s not… It’s not that Eva and I didn’t want to invite you. It’s that I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Eh?”

Vilde squeezes her hand. “Do you even remember that year? You were finishing up your USMLE exam and your orthopedic surgery board certification.”

“Yeah?”

“You weren’t able to come home all year and were stressed and tired all the time. We literally stayed on the phone for hours on your birthday,” Vilde says. “You cried because you couldn’t make it home. You kept talking about how badly you wanted to trim the tree with us. Which was heartbreaking, cause you don’t really celebrate Christmas.”

Sana vaguely remembers that, but if she’s being honest with herself, most of that year was a blur or coffee, stress, and flashcards.

“We didn’t want to make it harder on you, telling you that Eva was having this big bash when you might not be able to come,” Vilde says softly. “And in the end, it was Eva who convinced us that we needed to invite you anyway. Cause we’re family, and even if you couldn’t make it, you had to know you were wanted.”

Sana closes her eyes briefly. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Vilde says. “And then when you left, we were all worried sick. And then, when Eva and Noora almost broke up-”

Sana’s eyes pop open. “Wait, what?”

Vilde shifts uncomfortably. “I - I can’t really talk about it.”

“Vilde!”

“It’s not my place,” she says. “You - you’ll have to talk to Noora or Eva about that one. But the point I’m making is, we always want you, Sana. We all miss you like fucking crazy.”

Sana doesn’t know what to say. Emotions are welling up in her, and she’s afraid she’s going to start crying again.

“And… Eva’s relationship with Sara and Ingrid is… complicated. None of us really like them,” Vilde wrinkles her nose. “But I hope you know… she never would have stayed friends with them if she knew what they had said to you. She...”

“She?”

Vilde took a small breath. “She actually kicked them out of the bridal party.”

“What!”

“After Eva found out what they’ve been doing? It was epic,” Vilde says all in a rush. “She almost lunged at them, she was like yelling, ‘if you fuck with Sana, you fuck with me’ and like all this other stuff.”

“Woah,” Sana says.

“Yeah.”

“I have to -”

Sana tries to get out of her bed, but Vilde pushes Sana back.

“Nie, Sana, you can’t just go running off, you still need to get into your dress and we have to do our make-up,” Vilde says.

“I have to talk to Eva,” Sana insists.

“Yeah, but that can wait until after everything else,” Vilde says pointedly.

“Vilde-”

“Excuse me, Sana Bakkoush, but I don’t go into the operating room and tell you how to saw through a bone,” Vilde says sternly. “So you don’t fucking tell me how to organize this wedding!”

Sana doesn’t know if Vilde’s strict tone or wide, friendly smile is more menacing at the moment.

 

+++

 

Made up in her soft gray bridal party dress and yellow hijab, Sana hesitates outside of the small room that’s acting as a bridal space in the community hall. She look around, smiling slightly. Everything is decorated in soft tones and hard edges; it’s perfect for Eva and Noora.

She takes a deep breath and walks into the dressing room.

Eva is standing in front of a long mirror, fussing with her dress. Sana pauses for a moment; Eva’s hair is loose, with a daisy crown in it, and her short, pale yellow dress fits her perfectly. She looks absolutely beautiful. She catches Eva’s eye in the mirror; Eva turns, giving her a hesitant, tumultuous smile.

“Halla,” she says, tilting her head slightly.

“Halla,” Sana says, walking into the room and shutting the door behind her. “You… you look so beautiful.”

Eva lowers her eyes. “Yeah.”

“Eva I -”

“It’s the most important day of my life and all I can think about is how much I messed up with you. I’m so sorry, Sana.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Sana says, softly. “It’s - coming back has been hard, and I let so many things get into my head-”

Eva shakes her head. “No. It was a really horrible thing that Sara and Ingrid - that I basically let them - did to you. I’m really sorry.”

Sana moves closer to Eva, holding out her cell phone. Eva reaches for Sana, and instead of taking her phone, she holds onto Sana’s hand.

“I know they were being bitches, but I let my own… relationship… to them cloud that. They way they’ve been, not only this weekend but for years… I didn’t know a lot of it, but the stuff I did know, I should’ve stopped it right away. I never should’ve let them treat you the way they did.“

Sana means to tell her it’s okay, but instead she asks, “then why did you?”

Eva sighs. “I think it’s because… I feel like I… owed them.”

“Huh?”

Eva leads Sana over to the loveseat in the room, and they sit down. Eva hunches slightly, like she doesn’t know where to start.

“I’m not blaming you for leaving, not at all. But after you did… things kind of shifted. You know? Like Noora and I started dating, and hanging out with the rest of the squad, it became less like four friends hanging out. And more like Vilde, Noora and Chris being friends, hanging out, and I was just the significant other,” Eva says. “I was feeling left out a lot. I don’t know. So I reconnected with Sara and Ingrid. It was completely random, but we became better friends again.”

“Okay,” Sana says.

“I was dealing with a lot of stuff. My family not really accepted that I’m a lesbian, and stuff. And Sara and Ingrid… it sounds dumb, but I held onto that friendship with them because they were like… people from my past who were… or at least acted… like they were fully accepting.” Eva sighs. “And you know, for all their bitchiness and faults, they were good friends to me.”

“Hmm,” Sana stays quiet.

“Anyway. And it… I didn’t know - until yesterday, actually -” Eva huffs. “All that stuff they said, in the bathroom, at my 30th. I thought you had just… I thought you were so over it, over our friendship, that you just left for no reason.”

Sana shakes her head. “That’s - I had heard them talking, in the bathroom -”

“I know,” Eva says. “After I confronted Sara yesterday, she basically spilled everything. They knew you were in the stall, and said all that stuff on purpose.”

“Ah,” Sana says softly.

“Yeah.” Eva sighs. “So then that was… to me, it felt like another best friend who was just abandoning me. And I kept trying to contact you, but...”

Sana thinks about all the text messages from Eva she never answered. All the voicemails that she left didn't listen to, that year. She doesn’t say anything, but squeezes Eva’s hand in her own.

“And then...” Eva hesitates.

“And then?”

Eva sighs. “Do you… I don’t think Noora ever told you about this, but… I tried to visit you, in New York.”

Sana’s blood runs cold. “What?”

Eva looks away. “About a year ago.”

“I - why?”

“It’s a long story, but the short version is that Noora got offered a great new reporter position, but she’d be traveling internationally most of the year. She was on the fence about it, but was leaning towards yes. And I thought...”

Sana feels her eyebrows raise on their own volition.

“She was saying all this stuff… about how she loved me but if she took the job… long distance is hard,” Eva says. “And I told her I supported her, that we could make long distance work. But Noora… she kept talking about how confused she was. And Sara and Ingrid were like… telling me that she was going to leave me...”

“Eva, that never would happen-”

“I know,” Eva says. “But at the time… all the stuff they were saying, it felt like it was being supportive. I didn’t realize it was just… ”

Sana squeezes her hand again.

“Anyway,” Eva gives a small laugh. “I didn’t know what to do. I tried talking to Chris and Vilde, but they felt… too close to it, you know? They kept saying to give Noora time and space. And I was trying, trying to be supportive of her and be a good partner. But I was just… insecure. So I bought a plane ticket.”

“And you came to New York,” Sana whispers.

“Yeah. I even… I ended up at your hospital. But I couldn’t go inside,” Eva says. “I just… I didn’t know what to say, really. And I felt so stupid. I flew a thousand miles to see you, when we hadn’t talked for almost a year, when I thought you hated me and were so over all of our old drama. So then I came back to Oslo.”

“I’m so sorry, Eva,” Sana says.

Eva smiles slightly. “It’s not your fault. It was just… miscommunication. Me being in my feelings.”

“I know,” Sana says. “Boy, do I know.”

Eva says, “I always thought that we… were the most similar, you know? The same insecurities for basically no reason. The same kind of… we’re both stoic, I think, when we should be sharing. I don’t know.”

“No, I get it,” Sana says. “I do.”

“I love you, you know?” Eva says. “And I’m so sorry that I was part of the reason you were so anxious and in pain. That you didn’t want to come home.”

“It’s not you, it’s me,” Sana says automatically.

They both pause and stare at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter. Sana feels close to tears, just overwhelmed by hysterics and joy at the entire situation. She’s felt lighter than she has been in a long time. It feels nice, easy; being here with Eva. For maybe the first time since she’s landed, she really feels like she’s home again.

“I should’ve said all of this to you earlier,” Eva says.

“I should’ve answered your calls,” Sana admits.

Eva leans heavily into Sana. “This is so dramatic for no reason.”

“And on your wedding day, no less,” Sana smiles.

“Noora and I haven’t had much drama ourselves, recently, so I guess I was just due for some hysterics and tears,” Eva laughs.

Sana nudges her head against Eva’s. “I heard you screamed at Sara and Ingrid.”

Eva says, “After I learned everything, no way I would let those bitches be part of my special day. Fuck them.”

Sana’s voice is small. “Thank you.”

Eva says, “I should’ve gotten rid of those toxic bitches years ago.”

“Hmm.”

“I heard you brought Yousef as your fake boyfriend, but you might actually be in love with him,” Eva says.

Sana groans. “How did you -”

“Vilde can’t keep her mouth shut,” Eva grins. “Not much has changed.”

Sana pauses, letting the happiness fill her for a moment.

“Yeah, some things don’t change much at all.”

 

+++

 

When she leaves to see how Noora is doing, she passes by Yousef and Even in the hallway. For a moment, Sana can barely breathe as she watches the easy way Yousef moves in his tuxedo. He looks so damn good, she briefly wonders if he’ll agree to wearing it for her everyday, for as long as they both shall live.

He catches her eye, and they share a wide smile. Her heart flutters in her chest. She keeps her eyes on his, pretending not to notice as Even winks at her.

“Everything good, now?” Yousef asks.

Sana reaches out; her fingers graze the back of his hand.

“Perfect,” she says.

 

+++

 

“Thank God you’re here,” Noora says. “I was worried that you switched over to Eva’s side like Vilde and Chris, and I would only have Eskild and Linn.”

Sana smiles at her. Noora looks so beautiful, she thinks, in her soft gray tuxedo. The pants seem a little too short, but Sana doesn’t say anything. The yellow tie looks so bright, so happy; it matches Sana’s hijab and Eva’s dress.

“Nie, Noora,” Sana says. “I’m all yours.”

“I’m getting married, Sana,” Noora grins, tears shining in her eyes.

“Yeah, you are,” Sana’s unable to contain the grin on her face.

“And everything’s all perfect,” Noora says; it’s more of a question than a statement.

“Everything’s all perfect,” Sana confirms.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Noora says. “I couldn’t have done this without my sister.“

“I love you,” Sana says.

“I love you too,” Noora says.

“I’ve missed you,” Sana admits.

“I’ve missed you too,” Noora says. “But no matter how far we are, we’re still close, okay? Never forget that. But, when you do… I’ll be there, okay? Always, we’re here.”

They look at each other for a moment. There’s so much that Sana wants to say to Noora, wants to admit; but none of it seems so important, at this moment. She has a good feeling that all of her positive emotions of this weekend are going to follow her back to New York. And that even though she’s going to be thousands of miles away, she’ll continue to know her worth. Continue to feel the love.

She doesn’t say any of this out loud, but it’s like Noora knows what she’s thinking anyway.

“Just make sure to answer all of our texts, when you go back to your fancy surgery job and your not-so-fake dates with Yousef,” Noora says, winking.

Sana groans.

 

+++

 

“Stop fidgeting with your hem, Linn, you look great,” Eskild whispers in front of Sana.

His and Isak’s tuxes mirror Noora’s. Linn’s, Vilde’s, Chris’s, and Sana’s dress are all in the same soft gray shade, though there are minor alterations for each one. The other three women have pale yellow flowers threaded through their hair; they match the bouquets that each one carries.

They’re all standing in the semi-dark lobby, waiting to enter the next room, where an altar is set up and all of the wedding guests are waiting. There are two closed doors in the lobby, one on either side of the room. Linn, Eskild, Sana, and Noora stand in line on the left side of the room; Chris, Isak, Vilde, and Eva on on the right side of the room. They stand there patiently, just waiting for the piano version of "A Thousand Years" to start playing.

Sana glances over at Eva across the room. She smiles when she notices Eva staring at Noora in open admiration and love.

Eva’s eyes turns slightly, and she catches Sana’s gaze. They smile at each other across the darkness.

The opening instruments begin, and both doors open. Sana squares her shoulders and begins to wedding procession into the room, behind Eskild.

As she goes down the side of the room, her eyes search for Yousef.

He sits next to Even, eyes shining and never leaving hers for one moment. Her heart pounds in her chest, and she keeps his gaze the entire march down. She finally has to drag her eyes away from his as she follows Eskild towards the middle of the room, where Jonas stands, ready to officiate.

 

+++

 

Sana has to stare up at the ceiling more than once during the ceremony.

Her old trick doesn’t work; happy tears drip down her face anyway. She stands behind Noora, clutching both of their bouquets. She wants to melt at the happiness shining all over Eva’s face. And more than once, she turns her head to look at Yousef. Each time she does, he’s looking right back at her, wriggling his eyebrows or winking or just grinning.

“Today is a day for love and for beauty. But most of all, it’s a day for truth,” Jonas says. “And nothing is more true than the love between these two women that stand before us all today.”

Sana tries not to sniffle.

Jonas continues. “It can be the scariest thing in the world to let someone love you and to know how to love them back. But I know that you two will take care of each other. You always have.”

 

+++

 

“Eva Kviig Mohn, do you take Noora Amalie Saetre to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love, honor and cherish her now and forevermore?”

“I do!”

“And do you, Noora Amalie Saetre, take Eva Kviig Mohn to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love honor and cherish her now and forever more?”

“I do!”

 

+++

 

Sana tilts her head back slightly, so that she can look up at Yousef while they dance slowly. The reception hall is absolutely beautiful; Sana makes a mental note to tell Vilde that sometime later. They dance slowly, probably too slowly for the mood of the song.

“I know I’ve said it a thousand times, but thank you, Yousef,” Sana says softly.

He smiles. “Of course, Sana -”

“If you say, ‘anything for you, girl’ right now, I’ll literally fall down,” Sana tells him.

He chuckles, low and sweet. “I wouldn’t want that.”

He pulls her slightly closer, and she rests her cheek on his chest. His arms are strong and tight around her waist. Sana’s eyes skip around the room for a moment. Isak and Even are dancing close by, laughing and kissing. Noora and Eva are squeezed into one chair by the present table, shaking and rattling their gifts. Vilde is making out with one of Eva’s cute cousins, a short brunette with a pixie cut. Chris is leaning over the DJ, pointing out different records.

“I can’t wait to tell our six kids this story,” Sana says after a heartbeat, trying to hold back a grin.

She can hear the smile in Yousef’s voice. “Our six kids?”

“Yeah, if you’re willing to compromise.”

“It’s perfect,” he says. “We’ll have a basketball team.”  

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a review and let me know what you sweet babes think!


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